


Hazy Shade of Winter

by IamtheOther5am



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Returns, Captain America (movies) - Freeform, F/M, Marvel Universe, Natasha Romanoff - Freeform, Post-Captain America: Civil War, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, sam wilson - Freeform, steve rogers - Freeform, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamtheOther5am/pseuds/IamtheOther5am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Civil War - Winter's not over yet, prepare yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**ROME - 10:00am local time**

Natasha Romanoff sat alone at a table outside a Café overlooking the Colosseum, watching commuters and tourists zip past on their rented scooters, dodging pedestrians, and guides dressed like Centurions, as they crossed the sun-drenched street. A light breeze sent ripples across the off-white awning above her, and for a few moments, she was lost to the movement of the trees that stood in front of her, partially obstructing her view of the ancient arena beyond.

A waitress wearing a crisp white blouse and black apron approached her. “Are you ready to order?” she asked in her thick Italian accent, taking a pencil and notepad and flipping to a clean sheet of paper.

Natasha offered a small smile and nodded, ordering a cappuccino and cannoli in perfect Italian. As the waitress finished writing it down and disappeared inside, the breeze picked up again, lifting the edge of the checked tablecloth up. She smoothed down the fabric and leaned forwards, clasping her hands together as she took in the other patrons dotted around her at their tables. Elderly couples, young Roman families, tourists with heavy cameras hanging from their necks excitedly discussing the menu. _A safe place, for now._

After helping Steve and Bucky escape the airport, she’d spent the last three months jumping from one European country to the next, trying to keep ahead of Secretary Ross and his band of sanctioned thugs, itching to add Black Widow to their list of caged Avengers. Looking over her shoulder was getting tiring, so the sanctuary of this small café was greatly appreciated. 

Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She dove her hand into her pocket and swiped the screen. A message from ‘Jules’:

_Winter’s not over yet. Prepare yourself._

 

**UPSTATE NEW YORK – 4:00am local time**

“Hey, it’s…it’s me. _Again_. What is this, message number five hundred? Think I’m heading for some kinda record but… Look, I know you told me to stop calling you and I tried, I…I _really_ did, but… I wish you’d talk to me, Pepper. It’s early here…or _late_ seen as I haven’t slept in what feels like weeks… Damn it Pepper, I miss you. I saw your speech at the Renewable Energy Forum last night; you were br…brilliant. Putting you in charge of the company was the best idea I’ve…ever had...” Tony Stark sighed and pulled the phone away from his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. A lump was caught in his throat, permanently lodged there since Siberia. He felt weary.

He looked through the spotless walls of glass that encased him in his Avengers HQ office, all the way across the complex. Emptiness permeated the space. He caught a glimpse of some of Rhodey’s rehab equipment and a tear dropped angrily onto his cheek. He brushed it away and returned the phone to his ear, his other hand grabbing a pen and beginning doodling on a newspaper article about himself.

“Rhodey said you guys have been in contact, which is great… _really_ great. I’m glad you’re there for him…I’m glad that our problems haven’t stopped you being a friend to him…”

He choked back more tears, as his pulled his focus away from his pen work and onto the scratched red, white and blue of Captain America’s shield, leant up against the wall by his desk.

“I…I’m going to stop rambling into this answer machine now, God knows I must’ve near filled it up by this point, but we do need to talk. Please…just call me, Pepper. Call me.” He hung up and spun around in his chair, throwing the phone like a basketball, onto the couch in the corner. “What a mess…” he sighed, sinking into the quietness.

 

**WAKANDA - 11:00am local time**

“We’re ready to perform the test, Your Highness.”

T’challa nodded at the engineer and turned on his heel, taking a moment to glance up at the frozen features of Bucky Barnes, encased in his cryo-chamber. The king headed out of the lab and down a sweeping staircase, where servants opened the heavy doors that led out into a vast courtyard. The summer heat in Wakanda was oppressive, but here surrounded by the shade of the huge palace, plants and trees that surrounded him were luscious shades of green. He followed the path cut through the foliage, and headed into another wing of the palace, servants opening each set of doors in perfect time so he never had to break stride.

The vast gymnasium stood three stories high, and was flooded with light. A climbing frame, dotted with various obstacles, twisted and turned right up to the ceiling. At floor level, free weights glistened on one side, whilst cardio equipment stood in neat rows looking out above the dense forest beyond the palace.

Clint Barton stood in front of a mirror, doing bicep curls, whilst Sam Wilson spotted for Scott Lang on the bench press. Wanda Maximoff was on a treadmill, walking slowly and aimlessly as she stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window, twisting small balls of red energy between her fingers. As T’challa entered, she pulled herself out of her daze and glanced around, then turned to Steve Rogers, unwrapping bandages from his hands, his eyes focused up at the dizzying height of the climbing frame.

“Steve,” Wanda said, as the Sam and Scott began to walk towards the king.

“Your Highness,” he nodded, steadying the punching bag in front of him and taking a step forward.

“It is time, Captain.”

“Time for what?” Clint chipped in, as he placed the heavy dumbbells back on the rack and joined the others in a semi-circle.

“My scientists and engineers have been working on replacing Barnes’ mechanical arm, and they are now ready to test it.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” asked Sam.

“I have complete faith in my people, and that is all I require to know that yes, it will work.” T’challa turned back to Steve. “Shall we go?”

Steve gave a small nod and set off side-by-side with the king, whilst the others followed closely behind. He felt sick. The engineers had gathered excitedly around Bucky’s broken arm when they’d brought him to Wakanda, which Steve had found comforting, but they’d had to turn that enthusiasm into results, and now was the moment of truth. Was he about to be one step closer to getting his best friend back, permanently?

“What’s the plan then?” he gulped as the group crossed the courtyard.

“They will wake him just enough to restart his muscles, but his mind will be kept in stasis.”

There was something about the way T’challa spoke. Emotionless in delivery, yet full of feeling. Steve smacked his lips together and carried on walking, stuffing his hands into his pockets to stop himself punching a wall at the thought of everything Hydra had put Bucky through.

Wanda slowed down a little, scuffed her heels on the stone ground and folded her arms.

“You ok?” Scott whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Yes…” she said with a weak smile, as she slowed to a stop. “Just Steve and Bucky…brothers in all but name… It makes me think of my own.” She rolled her lips and looked down, willing the tears to stay hidden.

“You must really miss him.”

“I do…” She examined her outstretched hands, watching red ribbons of energy weave around each finger, “But I’m glad Pietro wasn’t here to see all of this death and destruction…I’m glad he wasn’t here to witness my crimes.”

“Wanda,” Steve said, as he came to an abrupt halt and spun round to face her. “What happened was an accident, a _mistake_ …but certainly no crime. Don’t let Ross in your head.”

“I’m afraid it might be too late for that. You rescued me…all of us…from a secret prison in the middle of the ocean. That makes _you_ a criminal too…” she sighed, “And then your best friend, used for years as a weapon of terror and death, can’t even trust himself to not turn bad again!?”

Steve’s mind was transported back to Berlin, and the look of hatred in Bucky’s eyes as he shoved him through the elevator doors. The red of Wanda’s powers reflected in his eyes, and he spoke in a cracked whisper, “I have to help him get through that-”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be kinder to him to leave him where he is?!” She took a step towards him, almost towering over him as he shrunk back. Her chest was heaving as she opened her mouth to speak again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Clint said, gently taking her hand and calming her. “Look at me, Wanda.” She obliged. “You’re safe; no one is locking you away again…”

“Look around you, Clint, we’re-”

“Hiding…we’re just hiding. _All of us_. I mean, if _you’re_ a criminal, and _Steve’s_ a criminal, we _all_ are,” he smirked, giving her hand a squeeze. “But Bucky is an innocent victim, who needs our help, and that’s what we’re going to do, ok?”

She wiped at a tear that tumbled down her cheek, and gave a small nod. As she caught Steve’s gaze, she dropped her shoulders and sniffed back more tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it… In all honesty, I would love nothing more than to have Pietro back.”

“I know you would. It’s all right…” Steve pulled her into a tight hug and whispered in her ear, “We keep going, we fight on…we leave nobody behind.”

As the tension eased, T’challa set off walking again, leading the rest of the group to follow him through the double doors and up the sweeping staircase towards the laboratories.

“Nice work,” Sam muttered to Clint.

“She’s just a kid,” the archer replied, “And I’ve had plenty of practice on that front.”

Sam gave a soft laugh and patted his shoulder, before retreating to the back of the group, and beginning a jovial conversation with Scott.

The automatic doors parted and Steve halted in his tracks. Bucky’s cryo-chamber was open and billowing out plumes of icy air. A group of five scientists in white lab coats were huddled around the space in front of the chamber, talking quietly, when one of them looked up and spotted the king. The rest turned and gave a short bow each, before returning to their conversation, whilst one stepped forward.

“Everything is on schedule, Your Highness.”

“Excellent,” T’challa responded, glancing around as the doors sealed themselves shut behind him and air purifiers kicked in on all 4 walls, turning the bright white room into a sterilised operating theatre.

Steve shook himself out of his pause and joined the others in a semi-circle a distance in front of the chamber. “And his vital signs are good?” he asked.

“Yes,” the scientist said, handing him a clipboard of charts, “We’ve lowered his body temperature so that he remains in stasis whilst we attach the new arm in the open air. His brain and heart function are both normal.”

“All right,” Steve said as he pored over the numbers in front of him, before handing it to Sam, “Let’s do this.” As the scientist gave a nod and turned away, Steve looked up at his best friend, dressed in white and looking peaceful. Then his focus moved to Bucky’s left shoulder, hidden in a black fabric cover. He was suddenly back in Siberia, seeing Bucky lying on the cold concrete floor, his metal arm five feet away from him. He could hear the screams of anger and pain; he could see the beams of light from Tony’s blasters…

“Steve…” Wanda whispered, giving him a light tap on his arm. He snapped out of his memories and looked at her smiling at him. He reciprocated and she pointed to his right. “Look…”

He shifted his gaze just in time to see two scientists lifting a brand new, highly polished metal arm off the table top behind them.

“Vibranium,” T’challa nodded, as they moved cautiously round to the front and set it down. “The very best.”

At that moment, another scientist stepped to the side of the cryo-chamber and pressed a red button, watching as Bucky’s temporary home slowly began to lift from the base and tip backwards. Steve, Sam and the others inched forward, as the chamber levelled off and came to a stop.

“So, he’s like a frozen Snow White,” Clint chuckled, relieved when everyone else - including Steve - joined in.

Slowly, Bucky’s shoulder was unwrapped and the mechanisms inside checked over. The care and attention these people were giving him was not lost on Steve, who could feel a lump rising in his throat again, as his eyes became damp. They hadn’t been obligated to help Bucky, or him, or any one of the people standing beside him, but they had, and he would be forever grateful.

With the shoulder given the all clear, Bucky’s new arm was lifted into place. Gone was the red star - the branding of his captors – to be replaced with a white star, a symbol of his regained freedom. The limb clicked into position, before a circular piece of metal wrapped itself round the ball and socket joint, fastening it securely. The scientists stood back, as an engineer took over and began re-connecting wires, like they were blood vessels on an ordinary transplant. All the while, Bucky’s vitals were being monitored. The soft blipping noise of the machines was soothing to Steve, and he released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Scott and Sam shifted their weight, their eyes not moving from the sight before them as the engineer continued his delicate work.

Steve’s pocket began vibrating, but he didn’t even notice until Wanda frowned and tugged at his shirt. He dropped his hand into his jeans pocket and took out his phone, taking a second to glance at the name before answering the call. “Nat?”

“Steve, turn on the TV.”

“What?” he frowned, shrugging his shoulders at Sam’s confused face. “Are you running? Where are you?”

“Are you near a TV?” she panted. 

“Erm…” He looked around, and spotted one over his shoulder, mounted on the wall. “Yes, I am-”

“Turn it on, _now_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve clicked his fingers in Scott’s direction and pointed at the remote behind him. He scooped it up and pressed the power button, as everyone turned to face it.

“What the hell?”

_“Panic, confusion, mayhem on one of the most secure streets in London. Behind me on the steps of 10 Downing Street, just a few moments ago, as she was beginning her speech ahead of the historic joint state visit by President Matthew Ellis and Russian President Konstantin Yanovich, the Prime Minister Julia Miles was shot by a sniper’s bullet…”_

“Geez, Nat-”

“Keep watching,” she interrupted. Her breathing was heavy and her sprinting footsteps pounded down the line.

_“Prime Minister Miles, a staunch supporter of Ellis, was rushed to hospital under army escort, but her condition is not yet clear…”_

“Holy shit…” Sam muttered, linking his fingers together behind his head.

_“Within seconds of the attack, armed police were on the rooftop, but the assailant was already on the move. One of the officers described the person as being ‘almost machine like’, and ‘leaping across rooftops like a cat’. An eyewitness shot this footage on their phone…”_

There on the screen in grainy, pixelated shades of grey and black, was the attacker, visible for less than a second, before disappearing behind a 6ft tall chimney stack. The footage played again and paused at the clearest moment, showing the black tactical clothing and a very large military-grade sniper rifle.

The gasps from the room were audible, but no one could say a word.

_“As yet, no terror organisation has claimed responsibility for this brutal attack on British soil, but police say they cannot rule out the possibility of Hydra, saying this could be ‘more of the Winter Soldier’s handiwork’.”_

The TV went silent, as Steve lifted his finger to the mute button. He looked at T’challa, who had moved to stand by him as the news unfolded, then at his team. He was numb.

“Oh, man,” Clint sighed, his eyes fixed on the events unfolding in London. “We’ve gotta get-”

“Steve!” Nat shouted down the line.

He fumbled with the phone and lifted it back to his ear, “What’s going on? Where are you, Nat?”

“Rome. I was laying low, but I guess you can’t run from your problems, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been found.”

“Ross?”

“Don’t…don’t think so,” she puffed. Her lungs were now burning from sprinting across the cobbled streets. “And seen as they appeared at the exact moment the Prime Minister was shot; I’d be pretty stupid to think they weren’t related.” She rounded a corner and slammed her back against a wall, peering out once to see if they were still following her.

After a few moments of hearing nothing but her heavy breathing down the phone, Steve spoke, “All clear?”

A smile began to appear across her face, but was wiped away as a pair of muscular men in ‘I ♥ Rome’ t-shirts came into view. “No, these morons are trying to blend in. I’ve got to shake the hired help and get the hell outta Dodge.”

“All, right, just be careful.”  

“I’m _always_ careful, Rogers.”

He chuckled under his breath, picturing her smirk as she said the words. “I need you safe.”

“Always thinking of me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, “It’s not Bucky. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do, Clint filled me in on his current state.”

“Are you heading to London?”

“Yep, I’ll check that out, and meanwhile, you…”

“I know what I need to do. Call as soon as you’re safe.”

“Will do.”

He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket before turning around.

“What’s first, Steve?” Wanda asked.

He stepped past her and over to Bucky’s side. The wiring was all connected, and the metal fingers were twitching. Steve looked across to T’challa, then to the engineer who was testing the connections. “Wake him up.”

“Whoa, man,” Sam said taking a step forward, “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“We need him. Wake him up.”

“Captain Rogers,” T’challa said calmly and quietly, “Barnes didn’t want to be awoken until his mind was free from influence, I think we should respect his wishes.”

Steve sighed and dropped his head, “He wouldn’t forgive me if I left him here,” he held his hand out in the direction of the TV, “Especially knowing that he’s being accused of a crime like _that!_ Now, _please_ , wake him up!”

T’challa glanced around the room, studying everyone’s faces. Scott and Clint were frowning, whilst Wanda wrung her hands, looking nervous. Sam walked over to stand by Steve’s side, his shoulders back and his arms folded. “Do you agree?” T’challa asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “If Steve thinks we need him, we need him.”

“Very well, as nobody else seems to be protesting, you may have your wish.” The king nodded to one of the scientists, who immediately turned on his heel and pressed a blue button on the side of the cryo-chamber. Everyone moved away, giving the scientists space to work. Within seconds, Bucky’s frozen skin, which had been covered in crystallised ice, began to thaw before their eyes. Light pink patches appeared on his cheeks and nose, and a faint gasp of breath followed.

 

**LONDON – 12:00 noon local time**

The midday sun burst through the floor-to-ceiling windows of a newly built skyscraper in the east of the city, casting narrow shadows at 45O angles across the bare concrete of the empty floor. Footsteps that echoed around the wide open space gave way to shuffling noises, as bags were unzipped and clothes stuffed inside, but there was no rush. A woman then stood up to face the window, zipping up a black leather motorcycle jacket.

A black mask covered your face from the bridge of your nose down, your piercing [e/c] eyes dazzling in contrast, but obscured by the choppy [h/c] shoulder length hair that fell around your face. You’d tucked yourself away in the far corner, behind the emergency stairwell, your back to the wall, so you could look out between the other skyscrapers and over to the River Thames, a mile away. The people on the streets were smaller than ants from this height.

You pulled out a phone and dialled, speaking in a muffled voice “It’s done.” 

“Good girl,” said the man down the line. You could hear the faint sound of international news reporters on the screens in front of him _. Did you really think he wouldn’t already know the mission had been completed?_ “And our next target?”

You crouched back down and removed the barrel of your rifle from its case, before resting it against your leg and lifting a pair of goggles to your face. You pressed a small button on the side of the frame and they zoomed in, bringing the river into pin-sharp focus. “Should be coming into view in the next 90 seconds.”

“Excellent. Extraction is in 3 and a half minutes. Stand by.”

“Copy.” Without another word from the man, you both hung up, and you set about piecing together the sniper rifle. You’d done this task so many times it was muscle memory now, and you didn’t even need to look at the parts as you worked silently. This allowed you to keep your focus trained on the river. A hushed alarm beeped on your wrist. _60 seconds_. You placed a small suction pad on the glass with a length of wire attached to it, and a small diamond on the end. Within seconds, you’d scored a circle on the glass, only an inch in diameter, and poked it out with your gloved finger. The wind blew ferociously at this height, but the whistling noise was lost on you. You shuffled forward onto your stomach and pushed the stand out on the rifle, steadying the butt against your shoulder and getting comfortable in position just as another alarm beeped on your wrist. _30 seconds_.  You wriggled your fingers under the barrel, then the finger wrapped around the trigger, and waited.

Another beep. Right on time, a small, insignificant-looking yacht appeared from the right, moving at speed. You closed one eye and pressed the other against the scope, reading the digital wind gauge in the viewfinder as you zoomed in close. A few people were rushing back and forth on the top deck, frantically answering phone calls or reading pieces of paper. The yacht moved fully into view between the two glass and steel skyscrapers in front of you and you took a breath, holding it as you steadied your focus. There, sat at the rear of the deck, with his arms outstretched around the edge of the leather seat, was the target. You pulled the trigger, firing a single armour-piercing bullet across the city skyline, penetrating the window of the yacht and hitting the target just behind his left earlobe. As he slumped forward and the people around him began screaming, the alarm beeped once more and you jumped up, deconstructing your rifle in mere seconds and replacing it in its carry case.

You grabbed up your bag and case and stood up straight, not even taking a second to look at the aftermath of your actions before you spun on your heel and turned the corner, pushing the door to the emergency stairwell open. You’d taken your shot from the 31st floor, so there were only 15 more storeys to climb to reach the roof. You put your head down and powered on, your breaths coming in short sharp bursts.

Just as you reached the final step and kicked the door open to the roof, a jet black helicopter appeared in the distance. You stepped out into the middle of the landing pad before you finally turned round to the river below, zooming in to see the yacht being circled by police boats with their sirens blazing, as you looked on emotionless. The wind whipped your hair up around your face, as the helicopter came closer and closer, before finally lowering itself enough for you to jump and grab the side. You planted your left foot on the landing skids and pushed up, refusing assistance from any of the camo-dressed men inside the cockpit. As you sat down on the seat closest to the door, you looked again at the chaos you’d left in your wake.

“Good work, soldier,” one of the men shouted over the noise. “The boss will be very pleased!”

 

**WAKANDA 2:00pm local time**

The news had spread fast. Clint was frantically channel-hopping, lingering on a news report for a few minutes before moving onto the next, but each said the same thing: President Yanovich was dead.

“Ho…ly…shit!” Scott exclaimed, “First the Brits, and now the Russians! What the _hell_ is happening today??”

The Russian president’s yacht was being towed to a dock, as media people scrambled to get close on their own boats, their microphones thrust out precariously over the water, hoping to catch a whisper or a fleeting piece of information.

“We’ve got to get out there and help…somehow,” Sam sighed from behind his praying hands. He pushed off the table he was leaning against, giving Wanda a gentle tap on the shoulder as he passed and headed over to Steve. “You think this will work?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, “But it’s worth a shot-”

His words were interrupted by the loud, desperate gasp for air from Bucky’s lips, as the last of the ice evaporated. His eyes were wide, and his hair limp, but he was smiling. “St…Steve…” he puffed.

His friend moved to be by his side and touched his arm, a soft smile appearing across his face. “Hey buddy, I think you’ve done enough cooling off to last a lifetime, don’t you?”

Bucky smirked and relaxed, feeling the calmest he’d ever felt after being defrosted. “It’s nice to wake up, without fear and…with…without danger.”

"Uhm," Steve dropped his head and shook it. “About that…”


	3. Chapter 3

“Wh…what’s happened?” Bucky asked, as a nurse began placing sticky pads on his pulse points. “Am I clear now?”

“Buck, there’s…”

“I’m free from Hydra, right? That’s why you’ve woken me up…?”

“Bucky, please!”

He closed his mouth, but winced a little as the nurse pricked his finger to take a sample of his blood. His eyes were fixed on Steve, who looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “W…what is it?”

“We haven’t…” Steve sighed and glanced over at Sam, who gave him a reassuring nod. “We’ve had to wake you before Hydra’s influence over you is gone…”

Bucky lifted his right hand to silence his friend. He didn’t say anything, but the tear that fell from his eye and ran down the side of his face spoke a thousand words. He scrunched his eyes shut to push more tears back, and tried to swallow the lump that was caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry Bucky…you know I wouldn’t do it without good reason.”

A few more moments of silence filled the air, as the nurse continued to check Bucky’s vital signs, and a doctor entered the room, walked over to T’challa, and began speaking in the lowest whisper. Steve felt sick.

“I wanted them out, Steve,” Bucky stated.

“I know you did-”

“Ok, Mr Barnes,” the doctor began, as he walked over to the other side of Bucky’s open cryo-chamber and smiled at him, “All of your vitals and blood work are normal, so let’s get you up.” He held his hand out and Bucky took it.

Slowly, he sat up, helped by Steve who rushed forward to hold his other hand. It was then that Bucky noticed.

His eyes filled with tears, but this time he didn’t hold them back, allowing the tears of joy and relief to tumble down his cheeks as he swung his legs over the edge. “That’s…incredible,” he whispered, lifting his shiny new vibranium arm up to the light. He turned his hand, back and forth, watching the light bounce off each digit, before clenching and unclenching his fist as quickly as he could. His eyes darted straight to T’challa, and he smiled. “Thank you.”

T’Challa nodded once, “It was all down to the hard work of these scientists and engineers, my friend, but your gratitude is most welcome.”

Bucky smiled again, awestruck by his new and improved arm. He looked to Steve, then Sam, and finally Wanda, Scott and Clint, who had now gathered around the foot of the chamber. He caught sight of the white star sitting proudly on his shoulder and smiled at his best friend again. Slowly his happiness withered away, as the bad news rose to the surface. “Tell me,” he swallowed.

Steve took a step back and rested against a metal table. “There’s been an incident, in London.”

“What kind of incident?”

“An assassination-“

“ _Two_ assassinations, to be precise,” Clint chipped in, holding a couple of fingers up.       

Bucky looked at the archer, a frown settling on his face. “Who was killed?”

“The British Prime Minister and the Russian President,” Wanda sighed, shifting her weight as she shook her head.

“Whoa,” Bucky whispered, his eyes wide.

“We need you on this, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his lips and glanced up at his friend, “They think I’m responsible, don’t they? That’s why you’ve woken me.”

Steve nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

Bucky placed both feet on the floor and slowly, steadily rose from the cryo-chamber. When Sam reached out to help him, he gave a weary smile and shook his head. “All right then, bring me up to speed.”

 

**SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH OF ENGLAND  
**

The black helicopter came to land on an abandoned-looking airfield about 250 miles outside of London, blowing the grass around the landing pad outwards before the blades began to slow down. You stared blankly out of the window, noticing how the sky looked very grey and angry. You turned to stare at the man sitting opposite, your icy demeanour making the 6 foot 5 brute with a gun sink down into the collar of his combat jacket. You enjoyed feeling powerful around these men.

The pilots flicked a few toggle switches above their heads and removed their headsets, after which the men sat by each door opened them in unison. The burly man you’d scared with a simple stare moved back away from the open door and waited for you to take the grab handle above and climb out of the helicopter, your rifle case clasped in your hand.

A smartly dressed man in a black suit met you on the tarmac. “Welcome back, soldier,” he smiled, as a young man wearing combat gear walked up behind him.

You shoved the rifle case into the young man’s chest and watched as he ran off towards a large grey hangar. You stopped in front of the suit and straightened your back, your eyes staring at nothing.

“Mission report.”

“Two targets. The first was shot at 11am, the second at 12:04pm.”

“Witnesses?”

“None.”

“Any further casualties?”

“No, sir.” 

“Excellent. The Doctor will see you now.”

You gave a curt nod and walked away, heading towards the same hangar that your rifle had disappeared into.

_So I’ll meet you in the morning, outside Philbin’s class?_

_Sure. We can just sit in the back whilst he drones on, and get Jackson’s essay finished._

_Sounds good to me. See you tomorrow…_

You tapped your palm against the side of your head. It’d been a while since you’d heard those voices. They were familiar, yet completely alien to you. You shook your head and took a few more steps.

_[name]! [name]! Excuse me, I’m looking for my friend…sir? Sir, please, can you help me? She was meant to be meeting me here…ma’am? Please, anybody!? [name]!_

The sound of a diesel engine revving followed, and the force of a fist, hitting you square in the head.

You felt your knees buckle beneath you, your eyes falling closed as you fell to the ground a few feet from the hangar. The last thing you remembered, you head was cracking against the tarmac, blood oozing from the wound. Then, darkness.

 

**LONDON**

“Excuse me, can I get a copy of these speech notes, ma’am?” Tony asked one of Prime Minister Miles’ aides. When she nodded, he smiled and watched her walk away.

He was standing on the pavement just outside 10 Downing Street, holding a gadget up towards the podium that Miles had been standing at when she was shot. The screen began working out calculations, and he took a small remote control from his pocket and pointed it at 4 projectors placed around the area. Each one instantly sparked to life, projecting a wire frame re-enactment of the scene.

There, in front of him, was the Prime Minister, reading out a carefully worded speech to the citizens of Great Britain, who had not been happy with her support for oversight of the Avengers. “…And I urge the people of Britain to stand with me, as I call to task the very people who claimed to be our protectors, but have caused nothing but death and destruction…”

Tony scoffed under his breath and stepped around the projection. He looked to his right to see the high-calibre bullet approaching, and swiped the screen of his handheld gadget, slowing down the re-enactment to a crawl.

“Is that Tony Stark, here to save the day?” came a voice from behind.

He recognised that tone anywhere. He paused the projection and said over his shoulder, “Agent Romanoff…or do you even still hold that title; I wonder?”

Natasha smirked as she came to a stop beside him. “How’d you get here? Invited?”

“Of course. You?”

“Feminine charms.”

“Someone got kicked in the head, then?”

She laughed and looked away.

“How are you?” he asked, awkwardly.

She sighed, “I’m okay, just taking a break from the world’s greatest game of chase, for a while.”

“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch when you decide to break the rules.” He pressed play on the slowed-down re-enactment and began to circle the area.

Natasha heard muffled footsteps behind her and peeked over her shoulder, seeing a group of Metropolitan police officers in white plastic coveralls, talking at the entrance to the street. She took a step towards Tony and shoved her hands in her pockets. “He was innocent, Tony, I couldn’t let you hand him over to Ros-”

“Innocent?!” he shouted, lowering his voice to a whisper just before anyone came looking, “He may not have been directly responsible for T’Chaka’s death, but he killed enough _other_ people. He deserved _everything_ he was going to get.”

She began to respond, but he wasn’t listening. He rewound and replayed the bullet’s journey a couple of times, before pressing a button on his gadget. “Friday, calculate trajectory, and pinpoint the shooters location.”

“Yes, sir.”

A line of red laser dashes appeared in front of them, with angle calculations and speed measurements being taken at the same time. The line came to an end high up on a rooftop to the left of the Prime Minister’s podium.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Tony grinned, his eyes flitting between the beam of light and Natasha’s face, “Shot from afar, elevated position, lack of emotion too, probably. Looks like all of the Winter Soldier’s calling cards.”

“Ton-“

“I bet he did Yanovich too, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Tony!” Natasha yelled, her eyes wide. “Bucky didn’t do this.”

“Bucky? So, not even James, or Barnes, or…Sergeant, or whatever, it’s _Bucky??_ ” He finished walking around the projectors and slapped his hand against a black metal railing in front of Number 10. “Geez, Nat, didn’t take him long to get under your skin, did it?”

“Oh, shut up, Tony, you’re delusional.” She folded her arms and turned away from him.

He rushed over and placed his hand on her upper arm. As she eyed him up and down, he seethed, “You were meant to be on my team, Romanoff, not his, not Steve’s…”

“Get off me.”

He squeezed a little harder, “You betrayed me…Rhodey….”

She looked at him with a mixture of anger and pity, “Let go of my arm, Stark, or you’ll regret it.”

He shook his head and released her, then stepped back and fidgeted with his gadget. “I guess you never really stop being a double agent, do you?”

She laughed and took a step backwards, “Well, this has been fun, as always. I’ll leave you to your toys and your self-pity, Tony.” She spun on her heel and began to walk away, before calling back over her shoulder, “And I _guarantee_ that Bucky Barnes had nothing to do with this, but somebody has gone out of their way to make it look like he did…just like Zemo.”

“Thanks for the advice I didn’t ask for!” he called back.

“Anytime.”

 

**WAKANDA  
**

“Play that back, one more time,” Bucky asked, lifting a cup of herbal tea to his lips.

Scott rewound the grainy footage of you, disappearing behind the chimney stack, moments after the shooting. He paused the screen at the clearest view of you, and Bucky and Steve moved to stand right in front of the screen.

“That’s a woman,” Bucky stated, before taking another sip.

“You sure?”

Bucky smirked and gave him a knowing look, “I’ve seen more women than you in my time, pal, trust me.”

Wanda chuckled and nibbled her thumb.

“All right, fair enough,” Steve laughed, “So are we looking at another of Hydra’s Winter Soldiers?”

Bucky shook his head, “They were all dead, remember, in Siberia. All present and accounted for, I saw them all. No, we’re looking at…”

“What is it, Barnes?” Clint asked.

“Another group has replicated the formula…”

“But I thought when you killed Howard, you took all the serum with you.” Sam frowned, glancing at Steve’s dropped head. “So how can that be possible?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn’t know how, but it was the only explanation. “Someone, _somehow_ , has copied it, and used it on her.” He pointed at the screen and waited for everyone to look.

“Which means that whoever that is,” T’Challa stated, “Is a victim herself, just as you were.”

“Exactly. And we need to find her, and help her.”

Steve nodded and stood up straight. “Let’s get started, then.”

 

**SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH OF ENGLAND  
**

You woke on a makeshift gurney, surrounded by surgical lights and beeping machines. You blinked several times, trying to adjust to the brightness above you, but you felt weary. You began to lift your head, but the pounding headache from your fall made it impossible. You choked back a few tears.

Thick straps held your arms and legs in place, and you began to panic, thrashing your body around as best you could, until a pair of hands pressed down on your right arm.

“Now, now, soldier,” said a woman, with long dark hair and black-framed glasses, wearing a yellow turtleneck and white coat. “Everything is going to be fine, you just had a fall.” She smiled sweetly at you and turned around, to speak to another white coat. When she returned to you, she squeezed your arm and spoke once more, “You did an excellent job today, but I know you’re tired, so let’s get you back to sleep, okay?”

You don’t know why, but as soon as she said the words, you felt yourself nodding enthusiastically.

With that, she lifted a very large needle and, without giving you a moment to react, stuck it in your arm. “Just a little something for the pain in that head of yours.” She pressed the plunger and watched as your eyes glazed over, and your head lolled back. “Put her on ice.”

Two men in white coats wheeled you away, and the man in the smart suit wandered over to the woman. “Dr Rappaccini, how is our asset doing?”

They both turned to watch as the men unstrapped your arms and legs and aided you into a tall cryo-chamber, before locking the door behind you. You managed to gain enough consciousness to press your hand to the glass before a button was pushed, and ice crystallised on the glass.

She sighed and removed her glasses, “Once again, that serum proves its instability.”

“I know, but we got the results we wanted.”

“At what cost, though? I want an asset that can be useful for many decades, not one or two, maximum!” She flung her arms out in exasperation. “At this rate, with all the blackouts and the flashbacks, we’ll have to terminate within the year.”

The man stepped forward and tried to calm her. “Relax, Monica, you’ll figure it out. Keep the memory wipes going, and maybe eventually they’ll erase every last shred of her past life.”

“They better,” she pouted, “Aldrich Killian promised me nothing but the best.”

“I know, and she will be. But for now, let’s just get the hell out of this place.”


	4. Chapter 4

**LONDON**

Night-time had descended on the shaken city, the bright crisp sunshine of the mid-autumn day giving way to black, cloudy skies, the faint light of distant stars just managing to pierce through. Everybody wandering the streets seemed to be in a semi-permanent zombie state, unable to comprehend the extremely public horrors that had taken place since the sun had risen that morning.  

The financial district was relatively quiet at street level, beneath the canopy of skyscrapers that loomed down like the tallest trees in the rainforest. Slowly, one by one, random windows had lit up like giant connect-the-dots, giving the area an odd feeling of safety, as busy night-shifts at the stock exchanges and banks began.

Natasha stood by the Thames, on a path that ran parallel to the river for miles. She looked across at the spot on the water where Yanovich had been assassinated, and which was still surrounded by police boats. She turned around and squinted up at the huge glass boxes in front of her, her mind racing. There were countless places in the area that would be ideal for a sniper to lay in wait, but the building standing at the far end of the tree-lined avenue ahead made the most sense. _Sheltered between other buildings to keep the sun away. A good distance from the river so as not to be too obvious. At least 30 floors up. Good vantage point…_

Natasha smirked, and glanced back over her shoulder towards the police and security services combing over the watery crime scene. “It’s not as if these guys are _helpless_ , just a little slower than me.”

She pulled out her phone and dialled.

“Hey Steve.”

“Hey, how’s things? Still being followed?”

She shoved her free hand in her pocket and shrugged, “No, I think Secretary Ross and his goons have bigger fish to fry right now. Peace at last here in London.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “Where are you now?”

“The financial district, checking out Yanovich’s crime scene. I went to Downing Street…” She licked her lips, “Tony was there.”

“What? Why?”

“He was invited by the British government.”

“That’s just great,” Steve muttered, his eyes landing on Bucky and Sam. They frowned in concern and he pulled the phone from his ear. “Tony is in London, by request of the British.”

“Oh, happy day,” Sam sighed, whilst Bucky said nothing.

“Is Barnes there?” Nat asked after a few seconds.

“Yeah, we took him out of cryo a few hours ago.”

“What kind of state is he in?”

“Erm,” Steve said, scratching his head, “Well, T’Challa and his team have helped a lot to repair the damage Tony did.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear that,” Nat said, stepping out of the light from the streetlamps as a group of men dressed in designer business suits walked past. “I need him here; I need his perspective.”

“All right, let me put him on.”

The muffled sound of talking followed, then a fumbling, crackling noise as the phone was handed over.

“Nat…Natasha?” Bucky stuttered.

“Bucky, hi. There isn’t much time for explanations at this moment, but I need your skills here in London.” She looked up at the probable sniper hideout and returned to the conversation, “This shooter has a lot in common with you, and I think you’re best placed to solve the puzzle and work out who it is.”

“Err, all right,” he shrugged, “We think it’s a woman, first of all.”

“Makes sense.”

“How so?”

“From the things I’ve already seen, the shooter was agile, nimble…more so than even Steve or yourself. Can you get here?”

“Okay. I don’t know how long it’ll take me but-”

T’Challa stepped forwards and spoke, “Forgive me for interrupting, Sergeant, but I believe I can be of assistance. With my jet we can be in London within a couple of hours.”

“Excellent,” Bucky nodded and returned to the phone. “Did you hear that, Natasha? Give us 2 hours.”

“Will do,” she replied, “I’ll send you the co-ordinates.”

 

With that, she hung up the phone and set off towards the target building, her heels clicking on the pavement as she went. The neon green sign of a coffee shop on the left side of the street pulled her focus, and she decided to sit and wait for her visitors there. She grabbed a newspaper from a stand by the door, ordered the largest coffee they sold, picked a spot by the window with a perfect view of the front entrance to the sniper’s hangout and sat, waiting.

 

**WEST CALDWELL, NEW JERSEY**

A black truck rumbled off the busy highway and into a small, leafy town, followed closely behind by a fleet of SUVs, all with blacked-out windows and no licence plates. A few miles past the town square, as the trees thinned to be replaced by row upon row of grey warehouses, the convoy took a sweeping right turn onto a private road, and came to a stop by a small security booth on the edge of a compound. The driver – wearing a black baseball cap and shades – rolled down the window and flashed a pass at the guard, who stood firm with his hand hovering over a holstered 9mm pistol. Satisfied with the credentials, he reached back to the booth and pressed a red button.

A buzzing sound followed, and a large metal barrier, reinforced with enough strength to hold back a rampaging tank, lowered into the ground, allowing the truck and its escorts through into the vast area.

The SUVs pulled up in formation in front of the dull-looking building, whilst the truck continued on through a heavy automated door at the far end and out of sight.

Monica Rappuccini stepped out of the back of one of the cars, her 5-inch spike heels scraping on the concrete ground. She motioned for one of the men to fetch her bags and set off inside.

The rear doors of the truck were wide open in the huge space, and a shiny metal ramp was slowly extending from the trailer, the sound of compressed air being released near the cab almost deafening. Monica frowned and pressed a hand to her ear, just in time for the loud bang of the ramp as  it hit the floor. She snatched a flipchart out of a nearby henchman’s hand and marched up the ramp, a faint gasp escaping her lips.

Your cryo-chamber stood nearly 7 feet high, and as she moved closer, she could just make out your face, frozen in a semi-conscious state. For a moment, she almost found herself feeling bad…perhaps even a little guilty for the way she had treated you all these years, but the rewards had been too great. You were her greatest achievement, your successes too vast to be measurable. Yesterday had proved that.

“You’re going to change the world,” she whispered, placing her fingers against the ice-cold glass, mirroring your own hand.

The man in the smart black suit meandered into the building, feeling no need to rush. It wasn’t as if you were going anywhere. He didn’t share Rappuccini’s sense of urgency, because, unlike her, he trusted your skills. It had taken nearly 20 years of searching; assessing potential candidates, watching them, testing them, and nearly giving up, until he'd found you. Then, everything had changed.

 

**LONDON**

Natasha’s phone buzzed on the table, shaking the last drops of coffee in the mug that sat beside it. She scooped the phone up and swiped the screen.

_5 mins out. Meet on the roof._

She gave a small smile and stood up, folded her newspaper and shoved it back in the rack as she passed on her way out the coffee shop door.

After looking up and down the avenue a few times, and satisfied that Secretary Ross really had stopped having her followed, _for now_ , she turned to her left and walked towards the target building, cutting across the road and heading straight for the main entrance.

The building was brand new, and judging by the 2 company name plaques by the revolving door, nowhere near fully let. She headed into the palatial 5-storey atrium, all glass, steel and leafy plants, and came to a stop. Ahead of her, just before the swipe-card entry gates and the elevators beyond, was a long white marble desk, with a bored-looking man sat behind it. He couldn’t have been older than 25. He looked up at the attractive redhead and raised his eyebrows.

She started walking towards him and spotted him checking his appearance in one of the computer monitors. _Too easy_.

“Hello,” she smiled, switching on her charm as she approached the desk, “All kinds of crazy out there today, huh?” She thumbed behind her, before curling her finger around a lock of her hair.

“Err, g…good evening, ma’am. Yeah, v...very crazy,” he gulped, “very crazy, indeed.”

She licked her lips and nibbled the corner of her mouth, keeping her eyes fixed on his. “Say, what’s a fine man like yourself doing cooped up in this place at such an unholy hour?”

“Well…er, it’s my regular shift. I do midnight to m...midday, y’see.”

“Ahh, so I guess I lucked out tonight then.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well…” she shook her hair out and leaned a little closer over the top of the counter, noticing a bead of sweat trickle down the shy man’s face. “I work for an investment firm, one of the biggest in New York City, and we’re looking for a new base in London. I caught a flight today and I’m still running on Wall Street time, so I figured I’d get a _very_ early start looking for spaces, and here we are.”

“Oh, right…” He shuffled in his chair, “The thing is, I don’t think we’re supposed to just let people wander around…”

“Can’t we just make it our little secret…” She scanned him for a nametag, “…Bobby?” She winked.

“Uhm…”

“Naww,” she pouted, pressing her palms together in prayer. “Pretty please?”

Bucky and T’Challa stood by the access door on the rooftop, the king’s jet hidden under a cloaking device on the helipad. Bucky stepped forward, hearing a clicking sound of heels on concrete, and just managed to step back in time to avoid being hit by the door as it opened.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Natasha smirked.

“Evening,” they replied in unison.

“Any problems getting up here?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said with a wink, before pulling a blood red lipstick from her pocket and wedging the door open at the base.

The three of them moved to the edge of the roof and looked across at the lights from the police boats on the river, Natasha observing Bucky’s movements. He seemed to just stop and stare. He didn’t blink, he didn’t squint. His eyes slowly moved away from the river towards the building, his actions beginning to betray his thoughts.

“First impressions, Sargent Barnes?” T’Challa asked, after a few minutes.

“31st floor.”

Natasha scoffed in amazement. “That’s impressive.”

“That’s where you think the assassin shot from?”

“Yes. It’s the perfect trajectory,” Bucky said, eerily calm. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

“Well then gentlemen,” Nat said, opening her eyes wide for a moment before taking a step backwards in the direction of the access door, “Shall we?”

 

**YALE UNIVERSITY - 10 years ago**

“No, no, no, Rachel, you’ve got it all wrong,” you interrupted, waving your hand in front of you as the entire lecture hall fell silent.

“I’m sorry, [name], but I don’t think I have, and I don’t need a _freshman_ to tell me either way.”

The room erupted into voice, as you and Rachel continued to argue back and forth. Professor Jackson stepped away from the blackboard, which was covered in complex calculus equations and diagrams, “All right, all right, simmer down, class!”

“Yeah, but…”

He held his hand up and shook his head, “Rachel, stop there.”

“Professor, what do you think?” came a voice from the back of the room. 

“ _Honestly_ …” He sighed and moved behind his lectern, removed his glasses and walked to the edge of the floor-level desks, his smart black suit crisp against the white walls behind him. “I’d like to hear more about [name’s] theory. I think she might be the only one seeing what I’m trying to achieve…”


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky and T’Challa followed Natasha through the roof access door and down the white concrete stairs, their footsteps echoing round the empty walls, accompanied by the metallic clicks of Bucky’s left hand grasping the rail. 

He glanced at the floor numbers, painted in a deep grey on the walls. _45\. 44. 43._

“You didn’t run up _all_ these stairs, did you?” he asked.

“Nope,” Nat called back, “I took the scenic route, but you two should probably stay out of sight of any cameras.”

They reached the 31st floor, and headed through the door, stopping in their tracks as a faint whistling sound reached their ears. Bucky was the first to react, his focus immediately pulled to the left, and the floor-to-ceiling window on the far edge.

“Here we are,” he said. Natasha joined him, whilst T’Challa began looking around the empty space.

Bucky pointed his metal index finger at the small circular hole you’d cut out of the glass, and looked across at the river in the distance. “This is where she fired the shot.”

“Great work, Barnes, you made my job a hell of a lot easier,” Nat said, crouching down to get a better look. She closed one eye and splayed her hands on the floor for balance, then peered through the small hole. “Perfect spot for an assassination.” She stood up and dusted her hands off, then watched as he looked around the immediate area. “What are you thinking?”

He took a step to the side and motioned with his hands, “She used a Vanquish .308 rifle.”

“As far as I know, the ballistics haven’t been released yet…”

He crouched down and traced 2 insignificant disturbances in the dusty floor, “That stand is unique to the .308.” He looked out at the crime scene again and pondered for a moment, “Makes sense for her to use it, too. It’s one of the best precision rifles for this kind of distance. Collapsible, as well. She set the case down over there,” he said, pointing as he spoke, “Just out of the way for her to work, but close enough to be able to disassemble and get out in seconds.”

“Okay, so where did she go next?”

He stood up, “The roof. You came in through the lobby, right?”

Nat nodded.

“Security features?”

“The usual; front desk, key-card entry, cameras everywhere.”

“Right, so the roof is the only exit option. She was working within strict timeframes, taking out 2 targets at 2 locations at opposite ends of the city. She would’ve even calculated how much energy she’d need, to be able to run up 15 floors and get to her extraction point in time.”

“What about getting up here in the first place?” T’Challa asked, coming to a standstill in the middle of the open space.

“Sneaking in to places was never my style,” Bucky said, a hint of a smile on his face, “Nat, any thoughts?”

“Well,” she said, sucking in air through her teeth and folding her arms, “The guard on the desk isn’t armed, so that makes things easier.”

“Do you think she used force?”

She shook her head, “Unlikely. The _very_ sweet guy I met was just finishing his shift when she attacked, so I’d expect him to have a bruise or something, but he was fine. Shy… _painfully_ shy, in fact, but not petrified or injured.”

Bucky nodded and looked at T’Challa, “So chances are she smiled her way through security.”

“But there are cameras all over that lobby, isn’t that outside her MO? Wouldn’t she want to hide?” Nat chipped in.

Bucky shrugged, “I never did. I stood in the middle of a crowded DC street to attack Nick Fury’s car, once…”

Natasha’s mood changed for a moment, as her thoughts rushed back to seeing Fury’s ‘lifeless’ body in the morgue less than 24 hours later. “I remember.”

“Let us go and look,” the king interrupted, turning on his heel and yanking the emergency door open. Natasha shook the macabre images from her mind and walked right past them both, and down the stairs towards the lobby.

With about 15 floors left to go, the group split up, with Bucky and T’Challa continuing down the emergency stairwell, whilst Natasha took the rest of the journey in a glass elevator that could be seen from the lobby. She retrieved her phone and tapped out a quick message: _Wait for my signal._

Bucky and T’Challa stepped silently out of the emergency exit door, and waited, as Nat approached the guard’s desk and switched back into flirt mode. Bucky couldn’t help but smirk as he watched, fascinated by her more tactful abilities. As Bobby and Nat leaned forward on their respective sides of the desk, she reached a hand out to stroke his face. A faint flicker of light against metal appeared in her hand at the last second, and before Bobby could react, a stinger sent a shockwave through his body, rendering him unconscious as he slumped forwards against the desk.

“I guess that’s our cue,” the king stated, and they rushed across the marble floor.

“I wasn’t expecting that treatment for the poor guy,” Bucky said, approaching the desk.

“He’ll be fine,” Nat replied, leaning over and swiping up Bobby’s security pass. “A little achy, but it’s not like I head-butted him. Follow me, the CCTV room is down here.”

One quick swipe and they were in. The room was dark, except for the 9 large flat screens on the wall, flicking between camera feeds around the building. Nat immediately sat down on a wheeled office chair, pushed back off the desk and spun around to face the data bank, and began typing furiously.

“Yanovich was assassinated just after 12 noon, so check around 10 to 15 minutes before then,” Bucky said, his eyes fixed on the screen showing her progress.

“O…K,” she said, hitting the return key. She spun the chair back around and stood up, just as 9 views of the lobby popped up on the screens. Each showed a different angle, in crystal clear high definition. 

The space was empty. Bobby was sitting at his desk, playing Solitaire on the computer and blowing streams of air from his lips every 30 seconds or so.

“I’m not seeing the reasoning for picking this building for the crime,” said T’Challa, “Surely the emptiness makes her conspicuous?”

Nat nodded in agreement, but Bucky didn’t respond, choosing instead to take a step closer to the screens.

“No...I…I don’t think…” He fell silent, just as a young woman appeared in the camera that pointed down at the revolving door entrance.  He shifted his gaze, watching as you glanced over your shoulder before stepping into the building. “That’s her,” Bucky said, tapping your image on the screen.

You were dressed in a smart business suit and high heels, your hair pulled back into a bun, a pair of dark-framed glasses framing your almond-shaped eyes. Your lips were a bright shade of red, and as you approached Bobby’s desk, you smiled.

Nat inched forward, “If I didn’t know any better I’d have sworn she came from the Red Room,” she whispered, a frown on her face.

“This is most intriguing,” T’Challa added. “She is not trying to sneak past, or hide her presence in any way.”

As Bobby sat up straight, you glanced over your shoulder again.

“Pause it!” Bucky commanded, pointing back towards the data bank.

Without further questions, Nat leapt backwards and pressed the pause button. Bucky stepped even closer to the screen, squinting as he went, before moving away to be level with the king.

“What are you seeing, Sargent?”

Silence.

“Bucky?” Nat said.

“Rewind the footage…about a minute or two…please.”

Her frown deepened, but she did as he asked and slowly rewound the footage, pausing it exactly 2 minutes previous.

“There,” Bucky said, pointing at the top left-hand screen, “Two guys on the street, two more inside. Watching her.”

“She was being followed?”

He nodded.

“But why?”

He placed his hands together in prayer in front of his lips and breathed a heavy sigh, “Because her programming is volatile. She’s a risk.”

The footage was un-paused, and they watched as you walked up to the desk again, smiled at Bobby and handed him a fake ID. You glanced up at the camera as he scanned the card, and it was as if a switch had been pulled. Your face was emotionless, your mind clear of all thoughts except your mission.

“All right, let me just call in a favour…” Nat said under her breath, pulling her phone from her pocket. She pressed the call button and raised it to her ear. “Hi, it’s me. I need you to run facial recognition. I’m sending you the photo…” She took a picture of your face from the screen, “…now.”

“Who are you asking, Steve?”

“No, another friend. You know him…kind of.”

“Fury?”

She smirked.

“Well, whilst your friend deals with the question of identity, perhaps we should get out of here?” T’Challa said.

“Good idea,” Bucky agreed.

Back out in the eerily quiet lobby, Nat replaced Bobby’s security pass on his still knocked out body, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “The world thanks you,” she smiled.

Suddenly, out of the darkness of the night, a cluster of shadows seeped in through the revolving door.

“Nat, look out!” Bucky shouted coming round the corner, just as a man dressed head to toe in black approached her from behind.

She immediately twisted round, scrambling up his body and hooking her leg around the back of his neck, before pulling him down with a loud crack. A couple of others wasted no time, lurching towards the Widow, unaware of the mistake they’d just made. As she punched, kicked and wrapped her thighs around the cluster of men, more appeared out of the darkest corners of the area, heading for Bucky and T’Challa.

The king lifted his arm up just as a man rained down on him with a large knife. Sparks flew as the blade touched down on armoured wrist guards, and a smirk spread across T’Challa’s face. “Is that all you’ve got?” he laughed, before flinging his arm back and punching his attacker on the jaw, sending the man flying backwards as he followed, ready to continue the fight.

Meanwhile, Bucky found himself facing off against 4 men, each one grunting and baring his teeth, reminding him of the Strike team that onceaccompanied him on Hydra missions. How he hated them. As one approached, Bucky kicked him with enough force to send him careening into a water feature, before turning round and prying another’s firm grip off his right arm with his brand new metal one. The man began to scream as Bucky pulled each finger back, then forced his metal palm upwards against his attacker’s nose, knocking him out cold. He smirked and looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers, "Wow."

Slowly, the trio overpowered each of the men, with Nat racing forwards at full speed to plant her knee in a man’s chest just before he could bring his knife down in Bucky’s back, whilst T’Challa kicked off a wall to hit another across his face with his foot, before landing silently.

Eventually, each attacker lay motionless on the polished marble of the lobby, arms and legs splayed at wild angles, as Bucky, Nat and the king caught their breath.

"Well, it's nice to be on the same side now, fellas," Nat chuckled, glancing at them both as they smiled and nodded in agreement. She then crouched down to look at the man by her feet, and something caught her eye. “What the…?” She reached out and yanked at his jacket to see a small label on his collar. “It can’t be?”

“Who?” Bucky scowled.

She released the collar and glanced around the floor, then lifted her gaze up to him. “These guys work for A.I.M.”  
  
Bucky dropped his shoulders and covered his face with his hand.

“Forgive me, but I’m not sure I follow…” T’Challa interrupted.

She rose to her feet and began flitting from one lifeless body to the next, “A.I.M. Or Advanced Idea Mechanics. Created by a _charming_ fella called Aldrich Killian. He invented the Extremis programme for super soldiers. Tried to kill Tony a couple of years back, but failed… _obviously_. Ended up dead, himself.”

“So, why does his company still exist, if he doesn’t?”

“They basically work for the US government, as contractors.”

“I’m sure your Captain will be pleased to hear about this.”

“Y’think?”

Bucky glanced around the room and out of the windows towards the street, then took a step backwards, in the direction of the stairwell. “We need to get out of here, Nat, before they send more. Finish explaining on the plane?”

She nodded, took a few photos, and followed them up the stairs and onto the roof.

As T’Challa’s jet came to life and they took off from the helipad, Nat’s phone vibrated.

“Well, we have an ID on our mystery woman…”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky said.

“According to Fury…she’s dead.”


	6. Chapter 6

**YALE UNIVERSITY – 15 YEARS AGO**

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Come in,” Professor Jackson called out, refusing to lift his head from the stack of papers he was grading.

“Wow…In all the years since I was here, and all the places I’ve been… _nothing_ has ever changed about this room, not even the colour of that suit,” a man said, pointing towards the professor as he walked down the auditorium steps.

Jackson removed his reading glasses and looked up, his face lighting up immediately, “Aldrich Killian! Do my eyes deceive me?” He pushed his chair back and held his arms out, pulling his visitor into a firm hug as he stepped over to the desk. When they parted, both were laughing. “The suit hasn’t changed, but it looks like my favourite student has.”

Killian waved him off and stepped over to the blackboard, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“So what brings you here, my friend? Need help with that er, Ex…Extremis program, is it?”

“No, no,” Killian replied, studying the equations in front of him, “I’ve got Mya Hansen all over that.”

“Ah, good,” Jackson nodded, before scribbling some hastily thought up critique on a student’s paper. “Top of her class, that girl.” He stood up straight again and smiled, “So what can I help you with?”

A veil of silence fell over the room. Killian traced his finger along some chalk lines, his back to the professor. Finally, he spoke. “Ever hear of the Winter Soldier?”

Jackson’s smile dissolved from his face and he shuffled on the spot, before folding his arms and leaning back against his desk. “It’s a myth, isn’t it?”

Killian turned around and flashed a huge grin. “Nope. The Winter Soldier, Hydra, all those assassinations… _everything_ you’ve heard is true.”

Jackson gulped, “W…well, wh…what does it have to do with me?”

“I want my own. I want the best.” He reached inside his grey suit’s inner pocket, and pulled out a folded file, dropping it on top of the stack of unmarked assignments. “You’re perfectly placed to find me one.”

“Er…erm,” Jackson stuttered, “You have your own program to focus on, surely?”

Killian shook his head, “This is a side project, for one of my top scientists to look after.”

“But how…? The rumours were that some of that s…super soldier serum was in…involved. Do you have that?”

“I’ve had access to it… _of sorts_. The final product is ready though, trust me.” Killian marched over to the professor and placed his hands on the man’s arms, “I just need you to find me a suitable candidate.”

After a few moments of staring at his former student, wondering just what on earth he was up to, Professor Jackson gave a slow, cautious nod. “All right…I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good man,” Killian laughed, giving the man a light tap on his cheek.

 

**5 YEARS LATER**

“Right, everyone, that’s enough for today. See you next week,” Professor Jackson shouted over the noise, as around 60 students began gathering their books and bags and filing out. “And don’t forget this semester’s paper is due on Monday.”

The rabble groaned and he laughed before shouting a little louder, “ _Monday_ , and no excuses!”

The rabble groaned again, but nodded in unenthusiastic agreement and carried on collecting their things and shuffling out.

You were sat on the second row back, still frantically scrawling notes as your classmates chattered and laughed. You shifted left and right, in an effort to see around a group of people in front of you, to the blackboard beyond.

“Are you nearly done, [name]?” asked your roommate Joanna, as the last few groups disappeared out the door.

“Al…most,” you smiled, before dotting your final word and rising to your feet. “I’m ready.”

“Excuse me, [name]?”

You turned around. “Yes professor?”

“Could you stay behind for a moment; I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.”

Joanna threw you a look, as you held your palm up in front of her, signalling you’d be five minutes, then separated, with her climbing the steps to the exit and you heading down towards the professor’s desk. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, far from it, in fact,” he smiled warmly as he gathered up his lecture notes. “I was very impressed by your last paper. Your ability to grasp new ideas and explore them logically is exceptional.”

“Oh,” you said, your serious face breaking into a smile. “Thank you, professor.” You watched as he walked around behind his desk and sat down.

“Remind me, what are you majoring in?”

You scratched your nose. “Erm, Aeronautics and Aerodynamics.”

“Of course, of course,” he whispered to himself, drawing his focus away from you and on to a document in front of him. “You seem to have a natural aptitude for problem solving…thinking outside the box, and that’s _very_ important in your chosen field. And, away from your studies, any hobbies?”

“Yes, but…” You sighed and started again, “Is this a test?”

“No, don’t be silly, I just want to make sure it’s not another case of ‘all work and no play’.”

“Right…” You shifted your weight and gripped your advanced calculus books closer to your chest, “I do archery…sir.”

“Excellent,” he nodded, signing the document. “With your keen eye for detail that sounds like the perfect fit.”

You frowned, still unsure of what to make of his questioning.

He lifted his gaze back to you and thrust the piece of thick paper out in your direction. “That’s a commendation for your work this semester. You really are one of my best students, [name], I just thought you should know that.”

“Thank you…I…I appreciate your faith in me,” you replied, as you took the commendation from him. “Will there be anything else, professor?”

“No, you can go catch up to Joanna, now. Go socialise, you won’t be a student forever. See you next week.”

“Bye,” you whispered, before spinning on your heels and practically sprinting up the steps and out the room.

Joanna was leaning against a wall, waiting for you. “What was that all about?” she asked, thumbing behind her.

You glanced down at the commendation and fanned it once in her direction, “Apparently I’m doing well?”

Jackson returned to tidying up his lecture notes and said aloud to the empty room, “She’ll do.”

Xxx

You stood on the path outside the Engineering building, waiting for Joanna, as students passed you on their way to morning classes. The trees swayed gently above you, dropping their brittle gold and orange leaves all around your feet. The wind picked up a bit more speed and you felt a chill run through you, so you yanked your thick purple scarf up around your neck and pulled the zip a little higher on your leather moto jacket. You loved this time of year, with its bright, crisp mornings and demand of knitwear. The delicious aromas of coffee, pumpkin spice and hot chocolate wafted across from a tiny coffee shop on the other side of the car park, and you smiled. _I could write poetry right now._

You glanced down at your watch; 8:57am. “Come _on_ , Jo,” you groaned, folding your arms and giving a rather embarrassing stamp of your foot on the stone walkway. “I bet she’s not even dressed yet…” Another peek at your watch came, followed by a quick look over your shoulder at your fellow classmates filing into Professor Philbin’s class. You rolled your eyes, “Excellent.”

“Damn it!”

You spun around to see Professor Jackson stood beside his car, struggling with a large stack of books and assignments. Plastic folders littered the ground around him, with loose sheets catching the wind and spiralling upwards towards the trees. The area was empty of people now, just you and Jackson. You checked your watch again, groaned at your friend’s lateness, then jogged over to him.

“Are you okay, Professor? Let me help,” you said, crouching down and gathering up as many folders and papers as you could manage.

“Oh, thank you [name],” he replied, exasperation evident in every word, “I don’t know why I insist on carrying so much at once.”

You gave a small laugh, stood up straight and neatened the pile in your hands as much as possible, as he propped himself against his ugly brown car and routed around for his keys.

When he found them, and opened the rear door, he dropped his books on the back seat and took your collection from your hands. “Thank you again, your help is much appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He dumped the items on top of the books, muttering some words of gratitude you couldn’t quite make out, as a black van came hurtling round the corner and pulled to a stop inches behind you. Before you had time to react, Jackson turned back around to face you, a large heavy-gauge needle grasped in his hand, and stabbed you in the neck with it, pressing the plunger. You had just enough time to put your hand over your neck before the van’s sliding door opened behind you, and two pairs of meaty hands reached out to grab you. Jackson seemed to lash out again at you, but whatever drug he’d given you made you delirious within seconds. He grabbed a handle on the roof and pulled himself in after you, his well-built frame looming large over you. The men spoke to each other in short bursts, and all you could manage was a groan.

Was that Joanna you could hear, calling your name? _Maybe? Probably. She sounds worried._

_What’s happening?_

You felt a sting of pain, and managed to press your hand against your abdomen. _B…blood?_

You whimpered, as tears clouded your vision.

“Calm down,” Jackson whispered, lifting his hands to your face and covering your mouth. “It’s going to be just fine.”

 

**LONDON**

The cloaked jet shot across the night sky as T’Challa got himself, Bucky, and Natasha away from the skyscraper and the lobby piled high with knocked-out A.I.M. agents.

“We should let Captain Rogers and the others know what we’ve discovered,” the king said as he switched the autopilot on.

“Good idea,” Bucky replied.

Natasha nodded her agreement, and the king pushed up out of his chair to make the call.

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky sighed, as his friend’s face came up on a large monitor at the rear of the jet.

“Hey Buck, did you find anything?”

Bucky scoffed and placed his hands on his hips, “Oh yeah, _plenty_.” He turned to Natasha and held his hand forward, “Nat.”

She stepped forward to the controls and began typing. “According to Nick Fury, our assassin is [full name], a Yale University student who disappeared ten years ago.”

A picture of you from the lobby footage popped up on screen, and then your Yale ID pass. Feature markers covered the faces, then slid on top of each other to show the perfect match.

“What else do we know about her?” Steve asked, leaning a little closer to his monitor.

“Straight-A student, studying Aeronautics, on the archery team. Came from a pretty comfortable family background; mom, dad, older brother and couple of dogs.” A photo of you and your family stood in front of a beautiful white clapperboard house and lush green lawn came up on screen.

“Poor kid. So she’s a missing person?”

Bucky covered his mouth with his metal fist and shook his head. “Not anymore…”

Nat sighed. “She was reported missing back in ’06 by her roommate. It seems she was the latest in a line of female students who went missing from Yale courses over a 5-year period.”

“Oh Jesus…” Steve sighed, and pulled his hand down over his face. “A serial killer?”

The muffled voices of Clint, Sam, Scott and Wanda could be heard in the background, as Steve’s words echoed around the room. They slowly approached the monitor and gathered around to listen properly.

“Hey guys,” Nat said with a sad smile.

“Hey,” Clint replied, offering a brief wave. “Don’t let us interrupt. You were saying she’s a victim of a serial killer?”

“At first glance it certainly appears that way,” T’Challa chipped in, “Miss [last name] was the last woman to go missing, and none have gone since.”

“So they found what they were looking for…” Steve stated.

Nat sighed in resignation, “The police kept her file as an open cold case for 4 years, as, unlike with the others, a body never showed up.”

“So what changed?” Wanda asked.

“They found a scarf that belonged to her, a purple one…” Nat took a deep breath and continued, “Well, it was originally, but when they found it on campus, it was completely covered in blood. _Her_ blood.”

“This is taking one hell of a freaky turn to Crazytown, guys,” said Scott, running his palms up and down his cheeks.

Steve glanced up at him over his shoulder, then had a thought. “What kind of state were the other bodies in? Any details that could be useful?”

“Very,” Bucky answered. As Nat carried on typing in commands, and incident and autopsy reports showed up on the screen, he continued, “Seems they’d all been frozen for some time. Signs of thawing and refreezing, and small puncture wounds all over their bodies. _And_ each had a traumatic stab wound to the abdomen.”

Steve scowled, “Why?”

“We think the reason is two-fold,” said T’Challa, “Firstly, such a horrific injury would put the victim in a state of dependency on their captors, and…” He looked across at Bucky, whose eyes had dropped to the floor. “Sargent Barnes, would you…?”

“Okay, so if they didn’t have access to the full serum, and no metal limbs to speak of…”

“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupted, “Who’s _they?”_

“A.I.M.”

Sam laughed uncomfortably, “You’re joking, right? Advanced Idea Mechanics? The government?”

Bucky shrugged and waited for Sam to stop swearing before he carried on. “So, without a serum that’s 100% effective, they had to improvise, and I think that means blood transfusions. Lots of them.”

“Did you see that?” Scott piped up, “Did you see that sign back there? We just left Crazytown _way_ behind and entered the city of _What-The-Freaking-Hell?!_ ”

Steve shuffled even closer to the screen and spoke in a hushed tone, “Buck…you really think she’s been subjected to something like that? Is it that simple?”

Bucky shrugged and looked at Nat, “Yes I do. If her blood is laced with a simpler form of the serum, feeding her muscles directly, it would explain her power and agility, but also…”

“What?”

“It would also explain why she’s volatile.”

“I don’t understand-“

“We saw lobby footage before Yanovich’s murder; she was being followed and watched. I don’t think the serum is 100% effective all of the time, so they have to keep an eye on her. They’ll make her check in frequently, watch her like a hawk…keep her on a leash.”

“Do you think there’s any of her left?”

Bucky nodded vigorously, “I do. _I_ had flashbacks, and she will too. I remembered faces, names… _sounds_ , now and then, and she will too.” He stepped closer to the monitor and looked his friend right in the eye, “She needs our help.”

“All right,” Steve agreed, “So what do we do?”

“We’re already on it,” Nat said, rising to her feet, “We’re on our way to get her.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Steve smiled. “Just giv-“

“No,” Bucky said firmly.

“Huh?”

“Just us three…for now. A small team is best; I don’t want to scare her. Besides, we need to be pretty discreet.”

Steve thought about it for a moment before nodding, “Okay then, looks like we’re on background duty for the time being. Keep us informed, and Buck…be safe.”

Bucky gave him a warm smile, “I will, speak soon.” With that, he ended the call, and he, Natasha and T’Challa looked at each other.

“USA, here we come.”


	7. Chapter 7

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC**

“So where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

Natasha zipped up her jacket and thought for a moment. “A.I.M. have a number of bases; the Bronx, Colorado, Boca Caliente-“

“Boca _what?”_

“Caliente.” She rolled her eyes and leaned against a table behind her, “Killian bought a private island in the Caribbean after he made his first billion. Some of the guys at SHIELD used to call it A.I.M. Island.”

Bucky smirked.

“Yes, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds.”

“So Ms Romanoff, keeping all those options in mind, where do you think we need to be heading?” T’Challa asked.

“Honestly? New Jersey.”

Bucky frowned, “Why there?”

“It’s the most ordinary-looking. A warehouse…” She turned around and began typing at lightning speed. “Last I heard, they were using it to store weapons for export.” She pressed the ‘return’ button and the complex appeared on screen in birds-eye view. “Hiding in plain sight.”

Bucky stepped forward and folded his arms, “It’s a massive space.”

“Plenty of room to hide a _human_ weapon, wouldn’t you agree?” she said, placing a hand on her hip.

“I would.”

“Very well,” the king said, turning on his heel and walking back to his seat, “I will update the autopilot.”

No sooner had he entered the co-ordinates, the plane turned slightly to the right and accelerated, pushing them all back a foot or two. The space fell silent, and everyone returned to their seats, buckled up, and let their minds wander for a few minutes.

Eventually, Nat leaned towards Bucky and spoke in a hushed voice, “So…what do you think happened when they got her to their hideout?”

He kept his focus straight ahead at the dark sky peppered with stars, and gripped the arms of his seat tightly. “That’s a good question. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling she had it worse than me.”

“What on earth makes you say that, Bucky?”

“Think about it…” He dropped his head and studied his hands. “All those dead test subjects, the blood transfusions…” He met her eyes and gulped, “They didn’t know what they were doing.”

 

**CONNECTICUT 10 YEARS AGO**

The black van travelled along the roads that led away from Yale with an unnerving calmness, despite the heavily bleeding woman in the back. Your skin was deathly pale and clammy, and it was as if all the colour in the world was seeping out along with the blood from your stab wound. Jackson hovered over you, his hand still clamped against your mouth, your terrified eyes staring up at him.

The men in the vehicle spoke to each other, laughing and joking as if they’d just left a ball game and their team had won. Though you were positive they had American accents, your delirium wouldn’t allow you to process their speech. You were trapped. _So this is what it must feel like to be locked-in._ How could this man - your professor -  have done this to you? You couldn’t even focus on rationalising it, you were getting too sleepy.

Your eyes began to fall closed, but you’d fight it and they’d pop open again. You didn’t want to lose sight of that bastard, you needed to look at him as a fire raged inside you.

He looked down and met your gaze. A wicked smile curled at the corners of his mouth and he removed his hand from your face. Your eyes dipped again and he lifted his head, his voice eerily composed. “She’s going. Let’s get this done now.”

Suddenly the van veered off the smooth road and onto a rough, bumpy trail, which seemed to go on for miles, rocking you to sleep.

Darkness was all around you. And silence. _Was this death?_ It felt as if the black was tangible, like a great heavy cloth over you. You reached out a hand to touch it, but the material turned to smoke, which rolled and twisted around your fingers, before fading back into the darkness. Then the cold crept in. _Yes, this must be death._ You didn’t want to be here, not really, but a feeling in your stomach told you that this was the safest place for you.

A beeping sound pierced the quiet and dragged you from your peaceful sleep. Your eyes twitched under your eyelids, and the sound grew louder. You tossed your head from side to side, but felt a sudden rush of euphoria wash over you.

Jackson stood on one side of a gurney, your bloodied body sprawled out in front of him. You were surrounded by wires and tubes, bags of blood hanging from poles, replacing what you’d lost with an odd variation. A doctor stood on the opposite side, and released another dose of the mysterious drug into your system. A faint sigh escaped your lips and you stopped shuffling.

“So what do you think?” Jackson asked, smoothing down your hair.

“Well, she’s still alive, so that’s a good sign,” the doctor replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Can we make something of her, or do I need to start looking again?”

The doctor held his hand up and frowned, “Let’s just wait and see how the reconditioning goes, all right? We won’t be able to gauge her suitability until the first transfusion is finished.”

Xxx

Days passed before you were allowed to wake; it seemed the drug that kept you calm had its other uses in high doses.

You lifted your head to be greeted by an unforgiving circle of white light shining directly into your eyes. You scowled and dropped your stare to the floor. You looked down past the grey hospital gown, at your feet and hands to see them held in place by thick leather straps, with an IV line going into the back of your left hand. You curled them into fists and squeezed, trying in vain to force the restraints open.

“There’s no point trying, my dear,” came a voice from beyond the lights.

“Wh…what the hell ha…have you done to me?” you gasped.

“I’ve given you an opportunity.”

“Fuck you.”

“Temper, temper, young lady.” He stepped forward, his feet just creeping into the light. He smelled of rubbing alcohol, and it made you feel sick.

You tried to lunge forward. Suddenly, a searing pain radiated from the line in your hand, and shot through your body. You screamed, then gritted your teeth as your head fell down. The brown tiles beneath your feet were covered in patches of dirt and dried blood. _This is like a horror film._

“That’s what happens when you can’t control your anger.” He moved closer.

Your entire body ached, and as you tried to move your wrists again, you realised that there were deep black and yellow bruises snaked around each one. “Why are y…you doing this?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“As I said a moment ago, I’m giving you an opportunity-”

“To do _what?”_

“To make a difference in this world.”

You scoffed under your breath, but the slight movement made your back ache. “What a load of crap.”

Jackson ignored you, and began pacing back and forth. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, studying you.”

“Have you now.”

“Yes, and I must say, of all the women who have sat in that chair, _you’re_ my favourite.”

Your mouth dropped open. The dried blood on the floor made sense. The chair was worn, and there were faint lines on the arms where fingernails had scratched at them furiously. You gulped as an ice cold chill blew over you.

“Tell me, do you know who I am?”

You managed to lift your gaze a little, and peeked at his face through your stringy hair. “ _Professor Matthew Jackson_ , head of Calculus at Yale…” You scoffed under your breath, “And an _asshole_.”

Another shot of pain tore through you. The screaming must’ve been audible for miles.

“What is _your_ name?”

“[full name],” you whispered, “And my mom’s name is Jacqueline, dad is Peter and my douche of a big brother is Andr-” Your cries echoed around the space, as another dose of poison was fired into your bloodstream.

“What is _your_ name?”

[full…name]. Y’know, I can’t believe it…” An unnerving laugh escaped your lips, causing Jackson to shift his weight uncomfortably.

“What? Why are you laughing?” he scowled.

“I nearly forgot the d… _dogs_ ,” you gasped between laughs, “Cooper and B…Baxter, that’s the-“

Jackson stepped forward, grasped the circular light and lifted it up high enough to duck under and get close to you. In his hand, you spotted a small controller, just larger than his thumb, with a button on it. He leaned in close, grabbed you by the chin to study your face, then stood up straight, holding the controller in front of your eyes. As your bloodshot eyes stared up at him, he pressed the button. You felt the burning agony race up your arm and course through your veins, and a bone shattering scream erupted from deep within you. It felt as if you were on fire. He held his thumb firmly down, and the onslaught didn’t cease, as wave after wave of poison travelled through you.

When he finally stopped, you lolled forwards as far as the restraints would allow, gasping for air, the pain unbearable.

He took a deep breath and sighed, “What is your name?”

“Wh…what do you want it t…to be?” you whispered.

He smiled and tapped you on the head. “Good girl, now you’re getting it.”

The doctor came into the room and Jackson turned away from you to face him. “Give her the tranquilizer. We’ll do the next transfusion tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” the doctor nodded, before ushering in 2 men pushing a gurney.

“And inform Dr Rappaccini that we will soon be able to begin programming the keywords.”

Xxx

Over the course of the next 6 months, you repeated the cycle of that first conversation, with Jackson holding your fate in the palm of his hand. After every session, the doctor would come in to give you another dose of the calming drug, allowing you respite through sleep for a few hours. As you received more of the enhanced blood, the thick leather straps were replaced by heavy metal cuffs, that covered from your wrist to your elbow. You were getting stronger, and they needed to keep you under control.

“Your name?”

“I don’t have one, I am no one,” you stated blankly, your eyes fixed on Jackson.

He smiled, but pressed the button anyway, sending the red hot poison racing into your bloodstream. Your heart pounded, but you didn’t scream. Instead you pleaded to the doctor, who stood somewhere in the shadows, with his needle in hand. “Please…please let me have it, I need it-”

Jackson released the button for a moment, then pressed it again.

“Please!” you bellowed, trying to fight the agony, “I’ll do whatever you say, just…let me...” You made fists and tensed up your arms. The metal cuffs creaked and Jackson let go of the button once more. He gave a small nod to the doctor, who then stepped forward to administer the drug. Almost instantaneously, your body relaxed and you sank back into the chair.

“This is coming along nicely, doc. Go and let Rappaccini know. She’ll want to see this.”

“Yes sir.” The doctor scuttled towards the exit and turned back, gulping before he spoke, “We’ve n…never got this far with the programme before. What happens next?”

“Next?” Jackson grinned, glancing down at you with your eyes rolled back in your head. “We put this new-found strength into practice.”

 

Xxx

 

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“What?” Jackson yelled, as his conversation with Aldrich Killian was interrupted.

The door to his office opened slowly, and an A.I.M. henchman poked his head in. “Um…professor, Mr Killian sir...”

“What is it?” Killian said, “Spit it out.”

“We…we’re running out of men.”

“What do you mean you’re…” Jackson’s eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. “Oh.”

Killian looked between the men, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“She’s killed them all,” Monica Rappaccini smirked, shoving the door open wide and stepping into the room. She ran a finger along the top of a filing cabinet and chuckled under her breath, before biting her blood red lip. “I guess we’re ready, gentlemen.” She patted a leather-bound folder and smiled at Killian. “It’s time to test out these trigger words.”


	8. Chapter 8

**WEST CALDWELL, NEW JERSEY – PRESENT DAY**

 “We’re _waking_ her?!” Monica shouted, slamming a fist down hard on the edge of Jackson’s sleek glass desk.

He nodded calmly and leaned back in his oversized chair, pressing the tips of his fingers together. “Yes.”

“That’s _it?_ That’s all you can say?!” She planted her hands on her hips and growled, “You’re so damn infuriating _professor!_ What the hell Killian ever saw in you, I’ll never know!”

He scoffed under his breath and turned the chair around to look out of the window behind the desk.

A tiny thud of something hitting the glass failed to register with either of them. “You always seem to forget that _I_ was the one who brought her in, Monica. _I_ was the one who created her-”

“With _my_ drugs! With _my_ technology!” She stomped around the edge of the desk and grabbed the arms of his chair, trapping him in her focus. “If _I_ hadn’t gotten hold of the details of Hydra’s Winter Soldier programme, _none_ of this would have been possible. And don’t you forget _that_ , old man!” 

Jackson shuffled uncomfortably in her sights, his icy demeanour showing small fractures. “Our window of opportunity is opening up, and our backer wants the job done, quickly and efficiently.”

“She’s too volatile, Jackson!”

“And whose fault is _that_ , pray tell?” he hissed.

She opened her mouth to fire back at him, but nothing would come out.

Natasha, Bucky and T’Challa were on the roof of the warehouse, the jet cloaked as the night sky. Nat pressed her finger to her ear, listening in with the tiny mic on the glass, and gave them both the thumbs up.

Jackson relaxed a bit and watched as Rappaccini let go of the chair and moved away. “We have to fulfil our contract, Monica. One more mission and then she goes back into deep freeze for the next couple of years. That should give us enough time to iron out the final creases in her programming.”

She gave an unenthusiastic nod of her head and walked over to the drinks trolley on the opposite side of the office. “One more mission, Matthew,” she said, pouring herself a whiskey. She pointed at him, glass in hand, before knocking the drink back in one gulp. “If he asks for any more extensions to the contract, there’ll be hell to pay.”

That was all Bucky and the team needed to hear, so they hurried off to find a way inside.

“All right,” Jackson said, opening his top drawer to pull out the leather-bound folder, before pushing up out of his chair.

Together, they headed out of the office and onto a metal walkway high above the warehouse’s main floor. They marched down the steps and towards the middle of the building, which held the cryo-chamber that you had been transported back from England in. Clouds of dry ice billowed over the top of it, keeping the temperature of the area much cooler than the rest of the warehouse.

“You,” Monica said as she clicked her fingers towards a subordinate, “Wake her up.”

Without uttering a word, he turned towards the chamber, along with another worker, and stepped forward. They both pulled keys on chains out of their pockets and looked at each other, then, in complete synchronisation, inserted and turned the keys, counter-clockwise.

Jackson and Rappuccini took a couple of steps back, as the glass of the chamber de-frosted before their eyes. The sound of pressure equalising resonated around the vast space, and then the door slowly opened wide. An oxygen mask covered over half of your face, giving you an almost alien-like appearance inside the glass tube. A button was pressed, and a thick metal restraint around your waist was released. You began to fall forward, still in an unconscious state, but the two minions took control of the situation, lowering you carefully into a wheelchair.

Monica headed over to a long stainless steel work bench, and wriggled her fingers in delight. Row upon row of needles loaded with the wonder drug lay in front of her. She counted out a nursery rhyme in her head to pick which one, then smiled the most wicked smile as she lifted the chosen needle up and pressed the plunger lightly, sending a drop flying into the air.

Jackson stepped out of her way, staying silent, but watched as she went to meet you and the 2 men as they sat you in a large black dentist-type chair and hooked you up to an IV drip.

She turned back to face the professor and grinned, “This damn drug, huh? Tranquilizer, addictive…and just _great_ at waking up a sleeping assassin.” With that, she inserted the needle and sent the entire contents racing into your system.

You gasped wildly as you were awakened, and a further 3 men rushed over to grab your arms and legs to fasten them down in the seat restraints. They then pushed you back, and shoved a mouth guard between your teeth.

You snarled at your captors, but as soon as Monica shook the empty syringe in front of you, your mood changed into that of a child, trying desperately to be seen as good so they could get a treat.

One of the men held a controller - like the one Jackson had used in your reconditioning sessions – and, once all restraints were securely fastened, pressed hard on the button, releasing a burning fire into your veins. You screamed and screamed as loud as you could through the mouth guard, your fingers clinging so tightly to the edges of the arms that your knuckles were bright white. When your body fell limp against the chair, the button was released, and the men moved away.

Monica turned her back to you and returned to Jackson. “All yours, _hotshot_ ,” she whispered in his ear.

Jackson ignored her and opened his folder, then walked towards you. He looked down at a list of words on the page, and gave a small cough. They were handwritten in blue ink, and they weren’t written in English, but Italian. “ _Glory_ ,” he began, his voice bold and commanding. “ _Picket fence_.”

Your body began to twitch, intermittently.

“ _Fibonacci_.”

“This way,” Bucky whispered to the others, as he found a way in. He peered through a roof window close by. “Damn it, they’re activating her.”

 “ _Extremis_.”

“ _Red oak_.”

T’Challa, now in his Black Panther guise, crept down the stairs and through the door at floor level, and silently took out an A.I.M. henchman standing with his back to him. Natasha followed suit, leaping up onto a packing crate and jumping – legs first – at another unsuspecting henchman, wrapping her legs around his neck and pulling him straight down, her hands never touching the floor.

“ _Bolshevik_ … _Reprieve_.”

Your head fell backwards, hitting the headrest, as all the enhanced blood running through your veins began to overpower you. It was as if the modified cells were throwing themselves against your skin, desperate to get out.

Jackson began to smirk, but composed himself. _“Penny...”_ He looked up, as a faint thud reached his ears. Monica met his gaze and nodded in your direction, as she made a rolling motion with her hands.

“Bucky…” Nat said as quietly as she could manage.

He looked up, then reached out and grabbed a henchman round the neck with his metal arm, squeezing tightly enough to knock the man out before he could make a noise.

“ _Saturn_ …”

“Bucky!” Nat yelled, but there was nothing she could do.

He was sprinting towards the centre of the floor, towards your chair. He could see Jackson’s face, looking up from the folder in his hands and beginning to open his mouth to recite the last word in the sequence. “No!” Bucky screamed, bulldozing every henchman who got in his way.

_“Moonbeam.”_

Your head straightened up and your eyes sprang open, your body still.

“Welcome home, soldier.”

You glanced up at Jackson and spoke quietly and calmly, “Thank you, sir. What would you like me to do for you?”

T’Challa and Nat had taken out a couple more A.I.M. operatives when they heard Bucky cry out again and saw a man fly backwards through the air, the result of a punch to the gut with a metal arm.

He approached the cryo-area at full speed, just as Monica stepped out of the way. Jackson kicked a device under your seat which released the restraints. Bucky loomed upon you with his metal hand curled into a fist ready to knock him out, but he was halted in his tracks.

Gasps were audible as the dust settled and you stood toe-to-toe with the Winter Soldier, your hand wrapped around his fist, holding him in a vice-like grip.

His eyes were wide as you stared at him, a smirk on your face and your pupils dilated. He gulped. “Uh oh.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky pushed with all his strength, the smooth metallic sounds of his new arm echoing around the deathly silent warehouse. Everyone was motionless, struggling to comprehend the sight before them. Natasha’s hand was clamped over her mouth, and even T’Challa stood completely stunned.

Monica Rappaccini squinted at the scene in front of her, her face slowly contorting into a sneer as she looked across at Jackson. He frowned, unsure of what she was taking from the situation.

The Winter Soldier pushed again, but you wouldn’t budge. He gritted his teeth and concentrated every inch of his power to his left arm, his eyes fixed on you. _How is she doing this? Steve can’t even hold me back this solidly for so long._

You dug you heels in, your smile widening with each passing second, then a thought came over you. You were bored now. You let go and turned your body to the side, allowing him to stumble awkwardly forward.

“Don’t just stand there!” Monica screamed into the air at her henchmen, “Finish them!”

Suddenly the whole warehouse erupted into chaos. As Bucky caught himself, you clenched your fist and jabbed your right elbow into the back of his neck, taking him by surprise. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, momentarily blindsided, but quick to react when you stepped over to him and kicked out, his hands grabbing your foot at the last second and flipping you onto your back with a loud crack.

Natasha and T’Challa were surrounded by A.I.M. henchmen, each one snapping and snarling more than the last. The bravest one rushed forward to attack, only to be met by the king’s vibranium-armoured foot hitting him square in the chest. Nat smirked and sprang into action, diving behind the king to take out an approaching attacker. She dropped to one knee and punched him in the inside of his knee, blowing his kneecap out and causing the 6ft bruiser to crumble to the floor. He screamed in agony for a few seconds, before another perfectly positioned hit knocked him out cold.

Bucky caught his breath and looked down at you, momentarily out of the fight. “What the hell did they do to you?” he whispered. Before any more thoughts could cross his mind, you jumped to your feet and lunged at him, your face now filled with rage. Kicks came sharp and fast, blocked by arms, both metal and skin, all at lightning pace. You screamed with anger. He was holding back, taking a defensive stance. He didn’t want to hurt you. _Not sure if I could right now, anyway_.

All he could think about was the young woman he’d seen photos of on the plane, looking happy surrounded her family. He’d read witness statements from your friends that had been taken by the police when you disappeared, and all said the same thing: you were an intelligent, caring women, who got along well with everyone. You were kind and considerate, and had volunteered in a mentoring programme for high school kids over the summer. _Now look at you._ Your eyes were wild, your hair stringy and the anger with which you hit out at him was horrifying.

Natasha leapt to her feet again, just as another henchman raised a 9mm pistol in her direction. She automatically set off ina sprint, and headed for some wooden crates which were stacked in a stepped formation. She climbed briskly from one to the next as he fired at her, and managed to look across at the fight in the distance, before jumping off the highest crate and spinning through the air, kicking the gun out of the henchman’s hand and taking him out in one swift move.

Glancing back over her shoulder, T’Challa was fighting a team of three men, running at them and tackling them to the ground, before finishing each with a somersaulted strike. He nodded in Nat’s direction, “I’ve got this!”

She flashed a smirk at him and set off at full speed towards you and Bucky, her path dotted with wave after wave of annoyances. She jumped, leap-frogging one assailant and taking out the man behind him with both feet, before moving on to the next. _This isn’t fun at all, I swear._

As Bucky reached out to perform a counter-strike, you dropped down to your haunches and spun around, swiping at his legs with your own. He fell backwards and immediately rolled over, only to be met by a bullet streaming past his cheek. His shocked eyes landed on your face, peeking out from behind the smoking gun. You’d grabbed it from one of the trolleys that surrounded the area, and had loaded the clip and fired within half a second. You fired again but he knocked it away with his metal arm, sending it careening to his left. Another shot. Another. He twisted and spun through the air like an acrobat. _A worthy opponent?_ You scoffed to yourself. _Hardly_. He was weak. You could sense it. He was holding back on his punches, and you pitied him. Man, woman, child, it didn’t matter. A target was a target.

Monica and Jackson scurried away to safety as bullets continued to fly, and ducked down behind a low wall.

“What do we do??” she whispered frantically.

Jackson peered over the wall just as Black Widow came into his sight line, heading towards the epicentre of the fight. “Shit!” He then saw Black Panther fighting 6 men at once on the other side of the warehouse, his reflexes razor sharp, just like his claws, which dug into the shoulder of a man who screeched in pain like a wounded animal. “Damn it!”

“Bucky!” Nat shouted over the din. “Her programming is weak!”

The professor saw him nod in agreement and dropped back down to his hiding place beside Monica. “We have to let her go-”

“Are you _crazy?!”_

 “We’re not going to win this battle, Monica!” He dug out his phone from his suit pocket and began scrolling through his contacts. Finding the one he was looking for, he typed out a text message at lightening pace. “We need to regroup and think about how to work this situation to our advantage.”

She scowled at him and scrunched up her eyes, trying to weigh up his thoughts. “Fine…but what do we do about the outstanding contract?”

“Don’t worry about that.” With those words he grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet, before making a winding-up signal to what was left of the army of rent-a-henchmen. In that moment - and much to T’Challa’s disappointment - the fighting stopped and the men turned and headed for the nearest exit.

You fired the gun again, but it simply clicked in defiance. _Shit, no bullets left_. Without taking your eyes off the area where you’d last seen the Winter Soldier, you grabbed a new clip and loaded up the weapon, hitting the butt of the gun with a loud whack as it clicked into position. As the vast space filled with silence, Bucky stepped back into view. You were about 30 feet apart, with the cryo-chamber and black chair to your right, his left. The smell of blood and sweat crept into your nostrils, and a sharp jolt of memories knocked your head to one side.

_“What is your name?”_

“I am no one,” you whispered to yourself.

Bucky frowned, and took a cautious step towards you.

You snapped back into reality and hastily pointed the gun right at his head. “Stay there!” He threw his hands up and held your gaze.

_“This is hopeless! She does one thing right and suddenly we forget that she’s volatile??”_

_“She just needs more conditioning…”_

“No…no I don’t. I will do w…whatever you want me to do.” You shook your head, and brought your finger up to the trigger.

Natasha crept around the back of a crate and up the step onto the raised platform where you stood.

_“So as we can see, the squares fit perfectly together because of the nature of the sequence, where the next number is equal to the sum of the two before it…[name], what is that called?”_

“Who…? W…what…?” Your eyes shook rapidly in their sockets. It was a weird feeling. You tried to focus on the Winter Soldier ahead of you, but then you saw _him_ out of the corner of your eye. The man who asked you what your name was, the same one who had been asking the same damn question for as long as you could remember, over and over again. He had opened one of the roller doors at the front of the building and was heading for a black SUV parked outside, a woman with long black hair following close behind. “J…Jackson?”

Natasha dived at you from behind, knocking the gun from your hand and spinning you round to face her. You kicked her on her side and reached out with your hands, grabbing her by her hair and pulling her head down to meet your knee. As impact was made, she crumpled to the floor in a heap whilst you watched, angry and confused. What were these voices you were hearing? Why were they so familiar?

You had no time to think, as suddenly Bucky ran at you, his heart pounding but his face calm. He raised his right hand in a fist and charged at you, but you ducked out of the way and punched him under his arm. You met his focus again, and the kicks and punches began flying again. His were relatively hard, whilst his face still continued to hold an almost peaceful look. Your attacks, meanwhile, were unpredictable and sloppy, your confusion battling with your certainty that the Winter Soldier would be on your hit list. “Stop this!” you screamed, “Fight properly!”

“[name]!” Bucky responded, still dodging blows, “This is not who you are!”

“I am no one!” You aimed a punch at his jaw, hitting him right on target and sending him stumbling backwards.

“You are not this person…this machine, [name].”

“Stop calling me that!” You marched over to him and linked your hands behind his neck, then squeezed your palms on either side, causing pressure to build in his head.

Bucky gasped. This wasn’t a normal way of fighting. He had never been taught this method, and it terrified him. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes were seeing spots.

Natasha woke slowly and pushed herself up, feeling dazed. Her eyes clamped on the scene ahead of her and grew wide.

You squeezed harder and gritted your teeth. “I am no one." Bucky gasped again, his hands trying to pry your fingers open. "I do _whatever_ I am told to do.”

A large needle was suddenly sunk into your neck and you instantly released Bucky from your cast-iron grip.

“Go to sleep,” T’Challa said, as he stood behind you, and pressed down on the plunger, sending a wave of euphoric tranquilizer into your system. Your eyes glazed over and you collapsed forwards into Bucky arms.

He lowered you onto the ground and looked up at the king, as he rubbed his neck, his breathing laboured. “Th...thanks for that.”

T’Challa dropped the needle on the floor and removed his helmet, a tranquil smile on his face. “It looked like you were in need of a bit of assistance.”

“I could do with some here, too,” Nat chipped in, shakily trying to clamber to her feet. The king assisted her with the task and then held his hands out a few inches behind her, in case she lost balance. “Thanks,” she smiled, before turning to Bucky, who looked almost as if he were cradling a small child in his arms. “Well that was a whole lot of fun, fellas, but I don’t want to play anymore. What now?”

Bucky brushed a strand of hair off your sleeping face and sighed. “I don’t know…my plans never got this far in my head.” He lifted his eyes to T’Challa and rolled his lips. “Any room for one more at the palace?”


	10. Chapter 10

“Make that two,” Natasha said, placing her palm against her head and checking it for blood.

T’Challa nodded and smiled, “Of course, Ms Romanoff. My people will keep you safe for as long as you need.”

She gave a gentle bob of her head in appreciation.

“As for this poor woman…” the king sighed, looking down at you, lost to drug-induced sleep in Bucky’s arms, “We will do all we can to help her mend, and deal with the guilt, just as we will for you, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky gave a weak smile. “Let’s get out of here.” He lifted you into T’Challa’s safe hands and rose to his feet, his head still spinning from your punishing attack.

Nat led the way to the exit, with Bucky trailing behind as she pushed on the emergency escape bar of a side door. The king followed her, almost running into her as she ground to a halt 3 feet outside. She frowned. “Something’s not right.” She looked left and right, and spotted a muscular man casually leaning against the outside wall, smoking a cigarette. Her frown deepened as memories came flooding back. _I_ _♥_ _Rome..._ She gasped, and immediately spun round to face Bucky, her hands slamming against his chest and pushing him away from the open exit door and back inside, T'Challa blocking the smoking man's view.

“What the-?”

“Get out of here!” she said in a forceful whisper, her hands waving impatiently at Bucky, “Go!”

He didn’t have a chance to say another word before the deep rumbling sound of 4 Hummers approached them, their headlights dazzling against the jet black night sky.

“Stay safe, but close,” Nat whispered again, her eyes flitting between Bucky and the dazed king.

Bucky nodded, and tip toed backwards into the dull light of the warehouse, closed the exit door and leaned against the wall, just as all the doors of the vehicles opened in unison, and a tall, grey-haired man with a moustache and air of self-importance strode towards your rescuers and you, flanked on both sides by 8 soldiers in army uniform.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the famous _Black Widow_.”

“Secretary Ross,” Nat said, lifting her chin slightly as she stared at him, “It’s been too long.”

He laughed uncomfortably under his breath and came to a stop a few feet away from them. He dropped his hands into the pockets of his blue suit trousers and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I wondered how long it would take before you showed up again on US soil, Ms Romanoff.”

She smirked again, “What can I say…I’m a patriot.”

“Indeed. And you brought his Highness? The man who told me to have you arrested for obstruction in Germany-”

“I was wrong,” T’Challa stated.

“-is now your partner in crime?” Ross pulled a face and glared at Nat. “I knew I’d get you one day.”

“Guess it’s your lucky day, then.”

“Imagine that.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket and scratched his nose before pointing in the king’s direction. “Who’s the girl?”

Bucky pressed himself closer to the emergency exit door, listening to the conversation. His left hand clenched and unclenched, urging him to burst through the door and take out these obstructions. _She needs to get to safety._ He could estimate where each person was stood, by judging how the narrow strip of light that infiltrated from under the door moved and dimmed.

“None of your business,” Nat said, reaching a hand out to hold the king back before he could answer Ross’s question.

“You don’t get to call the shots, I’m afraid,” the secretary grinned, before beckoning a couple of his men over. “Get her in the car. We’ll continue with the question of identity when we get to the base.”

The men strode over to T'Challa and yanked you out of his arms, whilst he gave them a stare cold enough to freeze fire. “Be careful with her,” the king called back, as everyone watched you be bundled into the back of the third Hummer.

Secretary Ross turned his attention back to Nat and folded his arms. “Where’s Barnes?”

Bucky swallowed, his throat feeling like it was burning. He wanted to scream so badly, it made the pain ten times worse.

Nat folded her arms to match and tilted her head to one side, her red hair cascading over her black jacket, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Secretary. His Royal Highness and I were just investigating a few leads, _alone_.”

“At A.I.M’s facility? Is that so?”

“It is, but…” She took a step forward, her smaller stature no hindrance to her ability to make tall, imposing men sink down deep into their suits. “You’re more than welcome to check the warehouse for Sergeant Barnes, if you don’t believe me?”

Ross gulped and glanced around at his men, then across at T’Challa, who was now grinning broadly. Finally, his eyes met the smoking man, who shook his head once. “All right.” He stepped back an inch or two, and spoke as forcefully as he could, “Either way, you are a wanted woman, Ms. Romanoff, so if you wouldn’t mind coming with-”

T’Challa moved forward in the bright white of the headlights, “Ms. Romanoff is working with me, Mr Secretary, so I think the courtesies of diplomatic immunity now apply, don’t you?”

Nat flashed the stunned secretary a wide smile as he collected his thoughts. “Erm…well…” He was lost for words, and she was sure she could tell what he was thinking at precisely the moment it crossed his mind. “Well, we’ll be on our way with the girl, then-”

Bucky shifted his weight, and bit furiously on his lip on the other side of the door, his desperation reaching boiling point.

“We will accompany you back to the facility, Mr Secretary,” T’Challa stated, his position as a statesman indisputable, “And we will be treated as _guests_ , not suspects or adversaries. Agreed?”

Ross nodded briefly, which turned into a vigorous action at the sight of the king’s disappointed face. “O…okay.”

“Good.”  
  
Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

“So, you fellas still at Westbury?” Nat asked one of the soldiers, as they turned and headed towards the Hummers.

Bucky heard Ross groan and confirm she was right, followed by the pitter-patter of 4 sets of vehicle doors closing. The engines rumbled to life, and the light under the door faded, until it was nothing more than a dim substitute.

“No!” he screamed as he slammed his metal fist into the wall, sending fragments of cinderblock flying in all directions. He spun round and dropped back against the same spot and ran his fingers through his hair, all possible scenarios playing at once in his head. _Is she safe? If Nat and T’Challa are close by she will be. Why was Ross here? Did someone phone the police?_ “No, they were military. Secretary Ross was _in charge_ ,” he said aloud, his fingers pressed to his forehead. His brain was aching, but he remembered Natasha’s words; _Stay safe, but close._

It was as if a switch had been pulled. He pushed up off the wall for the final time and yanked the door open. The floodlit concreted area around the vast warehouse was empty, save for a few black shiny truck units in one corner. There were tyre marks swirled on the ground, probably from Jackson and the henchmen’s hasty getaway, and a 7-foot-high metal chain-link fence that encased the site. He squinted into the distance and spotted what certainly looked like the convoy of Hummers that had just left, about to turn back onto the highway.

He set off running forwards, intending on getting to the road and finding a car to steal, but just as he reached the edge of the warehouse, a faint flicker of something caught his eye down the side of the building. A genuine smile spread across his face as he approached a highly polished dark red Triumph Speed Triple motorcycle. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he whispered to himself as he spotted the keys in the ignition. “Must belong to one of those A.I.M. imbeciles.”

With that, he brought the bike to life with an almighty roar, and sped off in pursuit.

 

Xxx

 

The convoy of military vehicles turned off a green, tree-lined avenue and down a slope towards an underground parking garage, stopping first to confirm their credentials at the gate. Natasha and T’Challa sat side by side in the second vehicle, throwing glances at each other and raising their eyebrows or smirking as a kind of signal. The men surrounding them were heavily armed, but both knew that these soldiers were no match for them, physically or mentally. They couldn't just break out though, they had to stay as close to you as possible, so they sat back and forgot about escape plans.   
  
The Hummers came to a complete stop by the underground entrance to the facility. Nobody moved, so Natasha piped up, “What does a girl have to do round here before a guy opens the door for her?”

T’Challa chuckled as the soldiers looked at each other with absolute fear. “Relax, Ms. Romanoff was only joking.”

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders, “Of course, I know how none of you can blow your own noses without asking permission first. Except _you,_ that is,” she said with a sudden serious tone, as her attention turned to the man who’d chased her back in Rome. “You have more authority, don’t you?”

“The Black Widow doesn't miss a trick,” he said, lifting his focus from flicking his Zippo cigarette lighter open and closed in his hand.

“Never.”

He laughed under his breath and stood up, opening the door and stepping out in one seamless movement.

Nat instantly climbed out of her seat and clambered over the other passengers, to follow him out.

“I know you, and I don’t just mean because that cheesy tourist t-shirt stuck in my mind. _Why_ do I know you?”

He stared at her, and for the first time, she noticed his piercing blue eyes, almost like staring at the sea from high atop a Greek island. His face was obscured by a scruffy dark beard, but she could tell he was handsome underneath. Despite that, though, he sent a cold chill through her, and she broke away from his gaze.

“Ms. Romanoff!” Ross called from beside the third Hummer. She turned around. “This way, please.”

When she looked back, the mysterious man was gone, and she cursed under her breath before heading inside the facility.

Bucky had crept up to a parking space opposite the underground entrance just as the last vehicle had disappeared, killing his engine and using his feet to manoeuvre the bike into position away from street lights. The place looked like any old office building from where he was seeing it, but with the added inclusion of soldiers dressed head to toe in black tactical clothing and armed with heavy machine guns. _What now?_

Your sleeping body had been transferred to a wheeled trolley, and taken to a small room in the medical wing. The space, no bigger than 30 square feet, was grey and dreary, and contained only a small table in the centre, and two chairs that faced each other either side of it. Your trolley had been wheeled into the corner so you faced the wall, and opposite that, a long black one-way mirror loomed down on you, it’s menace palpable.

“This isn’t right,” Nat whispered to the king, as they watched you sleeping on a TV screen, from their relatively comfortable surroundings of a conference room 3 storeys above.

“I have to agree,” he replied, watching as she went over to the double doors that led out onto a long, characterless corridor.

She pressed her head against the cherry wood and listened for a moment. “They’re keeping us out of the way…and I don’t know why.”

 

xxx

 

Secretary Ross slapped a paper folder on the small table in your room, and pulled a chair out, it’s bare metal feet scraping loudly on the cold concrete floor as he shuffled into position at the table and linked his fingers.

You woke slowly, your eyes heavy, and a dull pain on the side of your neck. You pushed up slightly, but the bright lights above you sent sharp pains shooting through your head.

“Ahh, you’re awake,” he said. You recognised the voice. “Come, sit.”

You turned from facing the grey wall and squinted to look at him. “Who are y…you?” you asked, rubbing your neck a few times. “Where am I?”

“My name is Thaddeus Ross, and I am Secretary of State for this great nation.”

You sat up and cautiously brought your legs around, to drop them off the edge of the trolley. “Where am I?”

“Westbury Military Facility, New York state.”

You looked at him with a blank expression. You didn’t know what to feel. You weren’t sure you knew _how_ to feel. “Am I a prisoner?”

Ross laughed, “I should think so. After all, you _did_ murder the British Prime Minister _and_ the Russian President yesterday.”


	11. Chapter 11

Your eyes widened for a millisecond before returning to their normal expressionless state. Ross didn’t have time to notice, even with his focus aimed right at your face, and not for want of trying. He had hoped for a reaction.

Natasha and T’Challa stared at the TV in the conference room, their mouths wide open at hearing the Secretary of State speak of your crimes in such a matter-of-fact way.

Nat blinked a few times and took a step back. “How does he know that was her?”

Back in the room, you shifted forwards, your hands curling under the edge of the trolley, whilst your legs dangled limply. “Where did you get that information?” you asked in a cold, impassive voice.

Ross leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why don’t you come and sit down, and we can talk about this properly.” He leaned forward again and patted the other side of the table, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

Nat shuddered. Even if _you_ didn’t find Ross’s tone creepy, she certainly did.

“What is he trying to achieve?” T’Challa frowned.

“Stay there, stay there,” Nat chanted under her breath, as you began to slide off the trolley. Your black combat boots touched the floor, and Ross straightened his back. “ _Stay_ … _there_.”

The room was deathly quiet as you crept towards the table. Your eyes broke away from Ross and landed in the corners of the space, where you noticed small black cameras in each one pointing directly at you, and moving as you did. _Looks like I’ve got an audience. I wonder who’s watching?_ Your neck throbbed at the spot where T’Challa had stuck the needle in, and you felt like you’d been slammed against a brick wall, but this was nothing new. You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t been in some kind of pain. _Another shot of the drugs would be really good right now_.

Ross watched you intently, frustrated at your lack of emotion. He’d wanted desperately to see some kind of reaction to his piece of knowledge. He’d braced himself for violence, and the fact that none came – quite the opposite actually – made him nervous.

Bucky was still sat waiting across the street, anxiously twisting his hands around the handlebars of the borrowed motorcycle. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the scene in front of him; people were milling about around the complex, minding their own business and showing no signs of the kind of dread Bucky himself was feeling. _I haven’t heard gunshots, so that’s got to be a good sign, right?_   His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the message from Nat: _Standby_.

He texted back. _What’s going on?_

Natasha began to type out another text, but was pulled away by the sight of you splaying your hands on the cold metal table and slowly, menacingly sitting down on the chair opposite Ross. He glanced up at the camera and for a moment, Nat was sure she saw him smile. “We need to get down there.”

“Quite a feat you pulled off in London,” Ross stated. “Two heads of state within an hour or two…” He nodded his head and leaned forward, linking his fingers together as he brought his arms to rest on top of a thin brown paper file.

You glanced at it, but didn’t have enough time to read the title, neatly written in black fountain pen ink. Your head was down slightly, but you lifted your gaze to him and sighed.

He stretched his thumbs and folded them back into his palms, then scoffed. “You won’t even get a trial, you know. Another Winter Soldier, _home-grown_ this time…” he shook his head, “No, they’ll study you, no doubt _copy_ you with a few _minor_ alterations…and then they’ll present to you the same fate as those dead heads of state.”

T’Challa scowled and turned to Nat, “We have to do _something_ , Ms. Romanoff, I feel so helpless. Get Barnes.”

She nodded and went back to her phone, furiously typing out a message: _Something is going to happen. Go to sub-basement lev-_. She gasped. The phone had gone dead. “Oh shit, they're blocking my signal!”

You sat up perfectly straight in the chair, your back rigid and your hands still splayed out in front of you. This was the stance you were required to take when seated at any table, to demonstrate that you were listening, and that you were unarmed. “What do you want me to say?”

Ross looked you up and down and then spoke in a whisper, “What is your name?”

“I don't have one. I am no one.”

He nodded and watched as you sank back into the chair, your shoulders drooping and your eyes falling to stare at the floor. “ _Fibonacci_ …”

Your eyes shot up.

“No, no, no, no!” Nat repeated, shaking her head in disbelief and running her fingers through her hair. She and T’Challa turned and ran to the double doors, flinging them open. Four heavily armed guards pointed semi-automatic rifles at them and began screaming orders incoherently.

“ _Extremis_ …”

“We have diplomatic rights!” T’Challa commanded over the noise, his hands shooting up into the air alongside Natasha, “And we have a right to leave this room! You _cannot_ keep us here!”

“On your knees!” one of the armed men screamed. Nat and the king lowered themselves to the floor, but her attention was fixed squarely on the TV over her shoulder.

You were clenching and unclenching your fists, your breathing heavy as your chest moved up and down.

“ _Red oak_ …”

You scowled and slammed a fist down on the metal table top, your eyes fixed on Secretary Ross.

“Don’t try to fight it,” he said with an air of confidence he had not had in a very long time, “I need you to take care of one last thing.”

You screamed in anger and frustration. It hadn’t been longer than 4 hours since you’d been woken from your cryo-sleep. 4 hours since these words had been said to you, igniting the fire and rage within you, and now you were being refreshed.

“You have to get down there!” Nat yelled at one of the men pointing his gun barrel at her face, “Look at the TV! Ross is not on your side!”

“Listen to her!” T’Challa chipped in.

Ross laughed under his breath, reading the next word aloud, “ _Bolshevik_.” His Italian was limited, at best, but he’d been working on these words for a long time, ready for a moment like this. “ _Reprieve_.”

Bucky was itching to get inside the facility, but the landscape still appeared calm from where he sat. A faint hint of autumn breeze brushed across his cheek and he felt calmness seep into him, momentarily.

“Shut up! Get _down_ , Widow! I won’t tell you again!”

Just as Nat’s left knee touched down on the carpet, she lifted her head to stare down her opposition, when something caught her attention. _Blue eyes_. The man with the unkempt beard walked calm yet briskly along the corridor behind the wall of armed men, taking a moment to stop and make solid eye contact with her before continuing on in the direction of the stairwell. _Shit, shit, shit!_

She turned to get the kings approval first, surprised to find that he instinctively knew what her plan was. He gave a short nod and they both sprang into action, with Nat side-swiping the soldier directly in front of her and grabbing his gun in quick succession, yanking it from his hands and hitting him right across the face with it, like a baseball bat. T’Challa flipped himself up and launched at two of the others, knocking their heads together like 2 halves of a coconut.

Ross opened the paper file and spun it round to face you. “ _Penny.._.”

The pulses of electricity in your brain were starting to align, instead of simply attacking you randomly. You looked down at the paper just as his finger came to rest on a surveillance photo of President Ellis. Your eyes flitted to the document behind it, printed on Secret Service headed paper. _Brooklyn Hospital._

_10:30am._

_Motorcade will arrive at the rear of the hospital no earlier than 5 minutes before scheduled event. 45 minutes of scheduled visit to then take place.  
_

Your fingers lightly touched the paper as everything came into focus.

_One 9mm pistol required._

_Close range kill._

_Possible additional casualties._

Ross felt as if he could see the mission bleeding into you, becoming the only thing you could think about. You were an empty vessel, and here he was witnessing it with his own eyes. The perfect asset. “ _Saturn_ …”

The bearded man marched down the narrow corridor of the sub-basement level, his mission clear. He walked to the miserable grey door of your room and approached the window. You looked pitiful.

The mission was clear. You lifted your gaze from the paper file and returned to look at Ross, but something caught your eye. You tried to ignore it, but the reprogramming process wasn’t fully complete, and an awkward part of you pulled your eyes to the window of the door over the Secretary’s left shoulder. Your breath hitched.

_“Stop it, Andrew!”_

_“Oh come on, sis, if you want to be the best, you’ve got to beat the best…”_

_“And I suppose that’s you, is it?”_

_“You know it. I didn’t get to be the high school quarterback out of pity.”_

_“But this is flag football on our parent’s lawn, Andy, and I’m your little sister, not some 230lb line-backer.”_

_“You quitting?”_

_“Never.”_

_“That’s my girl.”_

Your eyes widened as the memory assaulted you. Streaks of colours; nauseatingly colourful, whipped past your eyes. A gun scope. 10 Downing Street. The yacht. It felt like you'd been punched in the gut by the Hulk. You snapped out of it. The room was alien to you, the man in front of you…Secretary Ross?! He opened his mouth to say the last word of the sequence, but before he had a chance, you reached across the table and screamed as you put both hands on the back of his neck, forcing his head down with enough strength to make a 3-inch indent in the table top.

You slumped back into the chair. Your hand went straight over your mouth as you stared at the unconscious man, the smell of blood reaching your nostrils. Your neck throbbed again, just as you looked down at the paper file once again. The photographs; President Ellis, a hospital… _what living nightmare is this?_

“Hey, you!” Nat shouted as she and T’Challa rounded the corner that led to your room.

The bearded man spun to face them, then held one finger up. “One second, _please_ …”

They slowed their run to a fast walk, frowning to each other as he turned back to the window and spoke through the glass.

“[name]? I…I thought we’d lost you forever.”

You covered your mouth with both hands as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your knuckles were raw and stinging, but you didn’t care. “An…And-”

Alarm bells cut through the air. The soldiers must’ve been found in the conference room.

“Who the hell are you?” Nat said, approaching cautiously.

“I’m her br…brother,” he sobbed.

Voices began to creep up on them, as a team was dispatched to check on Ross’s prized prisoner.

“The family photos,” Nat whispered under her breath, “ _That’s_ where I know you from.”   
  
He nodded.

The voices grew louder, alongside the irregular beat of combat boots hitting the ground.

“We have to get out of here,” T’Challa stated, peering over his shoulder.

Andrew tugged on the door handle and cursed. “I can’t leave her there!” he said, wiping a tear away as he watched confusion and shock cover your features.

Your whole body was shaking, as you searched for your voice. “An…Andrew!”

“We need to go, now!”

“What about [name]!” Andrew shouted, shaking the door handle violently.

“I’ve got it!” Bucky yelled, sprinting from the opposite end of the corridor.

Nat smirked, unable to deny her relief at his sudden appearance.

Bucky ran straight to the door and looked inside, his left hand gripping the handle tightly. With one simple twist, the handle and lock were in his palm, leaving a hole in the thick metal door. He looked across at the others and said, “Nat, T’Challa; get him out of here and to safety, then call Steve and let him know what’s happened.” He pushed the door wide open and stepped cautiously into your room, “I will take care of her.”  
  
"I don't suppose there's a chance you could fill us in on how you got in here?" T'Challa asked.  
  
Bucky smirked. "I'll explain some other time, right now, you need to get him away from here."

“But Bucky, are you sure this is the best idea?”

He looked Nat directly in the eye and spoke with more confidence and belief in himself than he had done in years, “I know exactly what she’s been through. I am the best person to help her.”

No more arguments were heard. As the large team of heavily-armed soldiers rounded the corner, there was no one there to greet them. Curses were yelled into the air as they approached the door, stepping over the ripped-out handle and lock and into the room. Secretary Ross was still unconscious on the table.

“Well, looks like the mystery woman shut him right up,” one soldier piped up, to chuckles from his colleagues.

Outside, Nat, T’Challa and Andrew crept out of an emergency exit, waited until the coast was clear then climbed into an unmarked black car and drove away as casually as they could.

You leapt onto the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as you spluttered through the remnants of your tears. He offered a quick glance back to make sure you were okay, satisfied when you rested your head against the coolness of his left shoulder, before revving his engine and speeding off into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

_Warning: This chapter contains a small mention of blood/injury._  
\----

There were many perks to associating with the king of Wakanda. The first, of course, was the supersonic travel; flying through the air completely invisible, and landing at your destination only an hour or two after take-off? Who _wouldn’t_ love that?

The second perk – diplomatic immunity – wasn’t something that sat all that well with Natasha, surprisingly, but had proven its worth in the last few hours. Despite her grey background, and the mess of the Sokovia Accords, Nat was uneasy about the idea of hiding behind technicalities. It was this level of feeling that had driven her to stand with Tony Stark and against Steve, at first. _But look how that turned out._ Oh well, diplomatic immunity had saved her and T'Challa from having to sit in an interrogation room, waiting for Secretary Ross to come in and shine that horrible light in their eyes.

The third perk, and one that was soon to prove extremely useful, was his portfolio of apartments and houses, all anonymously owned. When T’Challa had mentioned them to Nat and Bucky before they left the basement, Nat’s eyebrows had shot up in the air faster than lightening.

“I know _exactly_ what you’re thinking Ms. Romanoff, but I assure you they were for diplomatic reasons only. I have no desire to…play the field, as one might say.”

Natasha smirked. “Okay, sure.”

“Sargeant Barnes,” the king said, stifling a chuckle as he turned to Bucky, “Take Ms [last name] to my loft in Tribeca. It is quiet, and out of the way.” He handed Bucky a piece of paper with passcodes, as Natasha stifled a laugh. “I think you will find it suits her needs right now. Ms. Romanoff and I will escort Mr [last name] to The Hamptons.”

“What about the jet?” Bucky asked, as he aided you rising from the chair, your eyes still fixed on Ross. “It’s still on the roof at A.I.M.”

“Don’t worry, I will call it to our location when we get there.”

Nat’s eyebrows danced again, “And here I was thinking the _Avengers_ had all the toys.”

With that, the sound of boots pounding the concrete floors rose up around them, shaking them from their chit-chat, and they were gone.

Xxx

The traffic through Flushing and Woodside, Queens was heavy, _ridiculously_ heavy, with incidents and construction zones littering the route from the Westbury Complex to T’Challa’s loft in Tribeca. Bucky didn’t think he'd been immediately spotted at the military facility, which meant there was no need to rush and make himself – and you – look suspicious by acting recklessly. He kept the bike between two lanes of traffic, and occasionally weaved between stationary cars and trucks without urgency.

Your arms remained tightly wrapped around his waist, tears stinging your eyes. The loud crack of a sniper rifle being fired reverberated in your ears so loudly, you wondered if it was to be a permanent feature. Scrunching your eyes shut to force out the tears, you were staring through a rifle sight, the cross-hairs landing on the right temple of a woman. _Prime Minister Miles_. You felt sick. You begged your mind not to show you, but it was unflinching, as the bullet shot out of the barrel and hit its target within milliseconds, dragging you along for the ride.

Bucky frowned and peered over his shoulder as best he could. You weren’t moving, and your breathing was so slow and shallow that he couldn’t feel that either. Finally, he heard you take a breath. _I need to move quicker_. He increased the throttle and sped off through the pulsating traffic and over the Brooklyn Bridge, just as the sun was beginning to cover the city in a warm orange glow.

The building that contained T’Challa’s loft didn’t look like anything particularly special from the outside; a 6-storey red brick pre-war, that stretched half the length of the block. Large sash windows sat in regimented pairs climbing the building, while black painted iron columns held the brickwork aloft over the street-level doors. A few windows were illuminated – _early risers_ \- the light emanating from behind neat blinds. It looked like any other apartment building in Tribeca. Bucky checked the instructions T’Challa had handed to him and steered the motorcycle slowly round the side and down a narrow alleyway.

The sound of deliveries; of men reciting orders to each other as they unloaded wooden crates filled with glass bottles and mountains of fresh food…Bucky hadn’t heard those kinds of sounds at street level for over 75 years. The city was alive and full of self-confidence. A lot had changed, of course – just passing through Brooklyn it was obvious that money had altered the city explicitly, but still… _I didn’t realise how much I missed this place_.

He dropped his feet to the ground and walked the motorcycle up to a small roller shutter door. He began to release a long, weary sigh when a green laser light shot out of a tiny pin hole in the metal and scanned every inch of the bike and its riders. Satisfied that neither Bucky or you were a threat, a holographic keypad appeared in front of his hand. He typed in the code T’Challa had supplied, and the light show was over.

The door opened and Bucky rolled the motorcycle inside, just as a light flicked on to reveal a small white room, empty of anything except a black steel door in the far corner. He switched off the engine and tried to rise from his seat, but you gripped a little tighter round him and whimpered.

“Hey,” he said softly, craning his neck to try and look at you. He swallowed. “[n…name]? We’re safe here… why don’t we get you upstairs where it’s quiet, okay?”

You fidgeted with your hands, releasing your grip slightly.

“[name]? No one can get to you, I promise.” You let go of him, dropping your arms limply to your sides, and allowing him to twist further round to see you. Your [h/c] hair covered your face, shielding your eyes and giving you an almost child-like appearance. He felt a lump rise in his throat. _Did I look like this in Steve’s eyes?_ “Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s get upstairs.”

He waited for you to move first, before rising from the seat and climbing off the motorcycle. He motioned for you to follow him and set off towards the black door, as you kept 5 steps behind.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and kept your head low, as he typed in another code to call the elevator. You could feel his eyes boring into you. A part of you wanted to run away from him, go and hide. _He wants to help_. The door slid open and he waited for you again. You glanced over your shoulder at the motorcycle. _I could take that…I could be out of here in seconds_. You looked at him with watery eyes. _I could do it…I could take him out and be gone…no one would ever find me_.    

“[name]?” he said softly.

You made no sound, but decided to ignore your inner thoughts – they were unhelpful right now – and stepped into the elevator. No sooner were you inside, the doors were opening again straight into the loft. You walked forward into the vast space; all bare brick walls and hardwood floors, wrought-iron columns and oversized, comfortable furnishings.

Bucky smiled at himself, thankful for T’Challa’s help. _This is a good space to work in_. He watched as you took cautious steps further into the room and gazed upon the inviting blue sofas and leafy plants. “Can we talk?” he asked, eventually.

You turned round to face him and for the first time, lifted your eyes to meet his. “I…I need to…shower? If that’s all…all right?”

“Of course,” he smiled, nodding his head. “Do you need help finding anything?”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be f…fine.” Your head dropped once again and you spun on your heel to head off towards the hallway at the far end of the space.

Bucky waited until you’d disappeared out of sight before wandering over to the kitchen area and opening the refrigerator. He took out a bottle of water and sat down on a bar stool under the counter, then looked back over his shoulder towards the hallway. “What a mess.”

The steam from the shower filled the bathroom with a dense fog, whilst the heat and the gentle pounding of the water jets soothed your skin. It had been so long since you’d felt the warmth of a shower; usually you were bathed when you were floating high in the clouds via the drugs. _The drugs_. Almost straight-away your hands began to shake. The drugs would’ve helped you cope with this entire situation. _They always helped_. You had fooled yourself into thinking a dose was running through your bloodstream the entire journey to this place, this…extravagant prison, but it had been hours since you’d felt that rush. The man… _Jackson_. He always gave you what you wanted. _He’s a bad man_. He knew how to keep you under control. This new man, on the hand, what had _he_ done? Who was he, that man in the other room? Hadn’t you been fighting him earlier, after he disturbed your awakening? You swallowed, as anger and confusion whirled around inside you. _He wants to help me_. You squeezed your eyes shut and pushed your face under the waterfall. _I killed those people. How do I get out of this mess? How do I defend myself? How do I live with myself?_ Droplets ran down your hair and onto your skin, heightening your senses. You ran your hands down your body and stopped, your eyes creasing into a frown as you felt something. _What is that?_

xxx

“Here you go, sir,” a soldier said as he handed Secretary Ross a thick brown folder.

The Secretary snatched it away and opened it, wincing as his broken nose throbbed under an ice pack. “Andrew…[last name].” He nodded painfully, and flipped onto the next page, as the soldier rushed out of the small office and closed the door. “Sergeant First Class Andrew…goddamn [last name]?! Her _brother?!_ _Why_ was I not informed of this?!”

“How the hell were we to know, _Thaddeaus??_ ” Monica Rappuccini sneered through the computer screen, “Don’t blame us for _you_ not vetting your employees!”

“You should’ve supplied me with the girl’s name and credentials!” He slammed the folder down and pressed his hand to his head, as a headache rose to the surface.

“For God’s sake, Ross!” Jackson shouted, as he slammed his fist on the desk of his bunker office in Connecticut, “We left her in your capable hands. _You_ …the person who hired us for the use of her services in the first place! You take her to a military facility, positively overflowing with soldiers and she gets away?! With the _Winter Soldier_ , of all people?! _We’re_ the ones who have the right to be furious!”  
  
"Bullshi-"

“What do we do about this, gentlemen?” Monica chipped in, trying to calm the situation.

“Romanoff and T’Challa stole a military vehicle, so we can track where they’ve gone, but as for Barnes and the asset…”

“They’re the priority right now, Ross. _Get them,_ or I place a call to a pretty ruthless TV news reporter by the name of Christine Everhart, who would just love to hear about the US Secretary of State being responsible for the assassination of two world leaders.”

Ross swallowed and winced again, then pulled the ice pack from his face. “Fine. We’ll get them, don’t you worry.”

“Oh I know you will, Ross,” Jackson scoffed, “Because _I_ made sure there was a fail-safe backup plan...”

Xxx

Bucky sat twisting a small knife between his fingers, over and under, over and under. He looked up at a clock on the wall and frowned. You’d been in the bathroom for over an hour. He listened. The water was still running, but there were no breaks in the journey of the water, to signify movement. “[name]?” he called out, pushing up off the stool. He began to move slowly down the hallway, his heart beginning to throb. “[name], is everything all right?” He pressed his left hand on the bathroom door and pushed it an inch open. Warm steam hit him right in the face, and fell on his metal arm as condensation. His heart was in his mouth now. “[name]? I’m coming in, okay…”

He opened the door fully and moved steadily towards the shower wall, terrified of what he might find. The steam subsided for a moment, and his eyes grew wide as he was faced with a chilling sight; the words ‘We will always find you,’ daubed on the wall in blood. He gasped and rushed round the corner into the shower and found you, curled up in a ball under the water jets, your naked body trembling as tears cascaded down your cheeks and blood trickled from a large wound on your leg. “[n…name]…?!”

You lifted your head and sobbed, “They’re coming for me. Please h…help me.”

Bucky’s eyes dropped to the wound. It was deep and bloody, like it had been hacked at in sheer desperation, and a sharp nail file lay on the floor beside you. He cautiously crouched down as he spotted something small and black by your foot, no bigger than a grain of rice. He kept his focus on you, tucking your knees up to you as much as possible, as he reached out and picked it up. “A tracker… _shit_.”


	13. Chapter 13

_Authors note: This chapter contains a very brief suicide mention._  
\---------------  
  
“Bucky?”

“Nat, hi, we…may have a problem. [Name] was fitted with a tracker-”

_“Damn it. Where?”_

“On her thigh, under the skin.”

_“Oh shit.”_

“That’s what I said. It was pretty deep and she…well, she -”

_“Bucky, what happened?”_

“She, erm, dug it out. Blood was e…everywhere.”

_“Whoa. Is she okay now?”_

“She will be, _I hope_. Right now, I need to throw off our signal. Is there anything you can do?”

_“Sure, I’ll give it a go. Do you have the tracker number?”_

“Yep. Let me get it… Okay it’s AIM7983621.”

_“All right. Give me one…second.”_

The tip-tapping of Nat’s fingers hitting keyboard keys echoed down the line.

_“Found you. Oh, hey, there’s a really great sushi place just round the corner from you.”_

“Nat…” he groaned.

_“I’m on it, Barnes, don’t worry.”_

He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair, keeping one eye on the bedroom door where you were getting dressed into sweatpants and a University of Wakanda sweater that Bucky had found in a closet. His mind slipped back to 20 minutes ago.

He’d almost expected to find you dead in that shower - heaven knows the idea had crossed his own mind at times after the incident on the Potomac. As the memories of dozens of kills had flooded his conscience, he’d felt overwhelmed with guilt. Who would help him? Who would _believe_ him? _No one._ He had felt like the loneliest person in the world. The idea of ending it all had assaulted him time and time again, but not for a long while. Certainly not since Steve showed up in his kitchen in Bucharest. _He believed me, he helped me._

The silence that had fallen over the loft had tugged him back to those dark days however, and he would never have blamed you if you’d decided you couldn’t go on. The anguish, the push and pull of conflicting memories; life before everything changed, the torture, the words of anger and hatred thrown at you to grind you down, the feeling of worthlessness. Then the sight of a familiar face; your brother. _Steve_.

He was shocked by his own relief at finding you the way he did. There was a better way…there is _always_ a better way. He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to forgive himself if you’d taken that final step, but you hadn’t and he was glad. He just wanted to help. He shook his head to force the darkness out of his head.

_“Bucky!”_

He scrambled the phone back up to his ear, “Sorry Nat…I drifted off.”

_“Don’t worry about it. Look, I’ve attached the tracker code to a stolen vehicle on its way to Philly, so as long as Ross and his band of merry mercenaries haven’t been tracking you since you left Westbury, you should be okay.”_

“Oh wow, thanks. I…I don’t know what else to say-”

_“Just say you’ll help her get through this, and we’re even, okay Barnes?”_

“I will do everything I can for her, I promise you that.”

_“Good. Oh, and you can destroy the device now.”_

He crushed the tiny tracker between his thumb and forefinger and continued, “How’s the brother?”

_“He’s talking a little…so I guess that’s a start, right?”_

“Better than closing down.”

_“Very true. Speak soon Barnes, and good luck.”_

“Thanks Nat, same to you.” He hung up the phone and threw it onto a small comfy chair in the hallway. He listened again, his ear straining in the direction of the bedroom.

You rolled the sweater down your bruised and scratched body, and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. The top of your leg throbbed mercilessly. Bucky had carefully cleaned the wound after helping you out of the shower with your body enveloped in a towel. He’d then wrapped a bandage around it, and kept an eye on it when tiny spots of blood soaked through the dressing. _He really does care._ You’d cried and cried as you’d watched him redress the wound, and now there were no tears left to fall. You weren’t numb - you could still feel the warmth of his embrace - but you weren’t sure what to do next. You needed to face these horrific things you’d done. _They made me do it, I had no choice._

A light tap came from the other side of the door. “[name]?”

“Y…” You coughed and pressed your fingers against the base of your neck, “Y…yes?”

The door opened a crack. “May I come in?”

“Erm, all right.” You managed a weak smile as he pushed the door open and stood in the entry way, his hand gripping tightly to the door handle. You could tell he was fearful.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft and warm.

“Like the whole world is after my head,” you scoffed, dropping your gaze to stare at your hands, shaking in your lap. “I have so many things running round my mind.”

“I get it,” he nodded. He released the door handle and slowly moved to sit in a small chair opposite you, clasping his hands together when he was comfortable. “I’ve been in the exact same place you are right now. It’s…difficult to focus.”

 “It’s impossible.”

He swallowed. “Do…do you know me?”

You nodded once. “You’re the…sorry, you _were_ the Winter Soldier. I’ve had your face imprinted on my brain for as long as I can remember.”

“They told you to kill me, didn’t they?”

You nodded again.

“You know, a part of me wonders if that was to prevent this exact moment happening.”

You pulled the non-bandaged leg up onto the bed and hugged the knee. “What do you mean?”

“They must’ve known that I would help you, if I could. Nobody has been through what you have, except me.” He pressed his index finger against his chest and looked at you with pity. “You can survive this, [name]. I did, so you can.”

“Please…” you whispered, tears suddenly obscuring your vision, “I am n…no one -”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly, as he rose from his chair and sat down next to you. He cautiously took you into his arms and rocked you gently, as tears streaked down your face. “Your name is [full name], you have a brother called Andrew, and your parents are Peter and Jacqueline-”

“Don’t forget the dogs,” you laughed through your tears.

He smiled and held you a little closer, “No, don’t forget them. Cooper and…”

“Baxter.” Silence fell again. After a minute, you pulled back and looked at him… _really_ looked at him. He had a bruise or two that you knew you’d caused earlier, though the exact details of a fight that left you both worn out were not forthcoming right now. His steel-blue eyes were hiding secrets so similar to your own, and you could tell he meant every word that he said. _He wants to help me get better…maybe even move on_. You rolled your lips, and slowly the words came out, “So what happens now?”

"Well, first of all, my name is Bucky Barnes, and it's nice to meet you."  
  
You smiled properly for the first time in years. "It's nice to meet you too, Bucky Barnes."  
  
“Are you up for talking things through for a while? I think it would really help.”

“Okay, let’s try.”

 

Xxx

 

T’Challa leaned against the white, oversized island in the kitchen of his Hamptons mansion. The swooshing of the ocean outside mingled with the rustling of the autumn leaves on the trees by the French doors. He blew a stream of air from his lips and over a steaming mug of English tea cupped in both hands, and listened.

Natasha stood by the kitchen table with her arms folded, looking down at the man with the piercing blue eyes, who averted his gaze anywhere that meant he didn’t have to look at her. She huffed and it made him nervous.

“Why were you chasing me in Rome, Andrew?”

“I needed to make sure you set the wheels in motion, and the best way to do that undetected was to have Ross send me after you..”

“Wheels in motion for _what?_ ”

“I had to be there, to see you and know that you would contact Captain Rogers -”

Nat scowled and glanced over her shoulder at the king, who simply shrugged in a ‘I’m staying out of this’ kind of way and took a sip of tea. “Why?”

Andrew sighed and lifted his gaze to her. “I knew that wherever Rogers was, Barnes was likely to be…and I knew he was the key to helping me find my sister -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” T’Challa piped up, planting his mug down on the island and stepping forward to stand beside Nat, “So you already knew who…who your sister was?”

Andrew nodded solemnly, “I’ve known for a while now. I just couldn’t get to her and -”

“So you waited,” Nat pushed in, the machinations of her mind working at double speed. “ _Winter’s not over yet_ …” she looked at the man, clearly exhausted from all his meticulous planning, “ _Prepare yourself_.”

“I beg your pardon, Ms Romanoff?” the king asked, confused.

“Fury didn't send me that message... _you_ sent it, didn’t you Andrew?”

He nodded once more, “I’m sorry about that, I really am. But like I said, I needed you to be involved from the very beginning. I’d read all about Barnes in the papers, and [name] was being led down the exact same path…I just knew it.”

Nat couldn’t blame him, not even a little bit. Here was a man left devastated by his younger sister’s disappearance, desperate, and completely out of options. “I think I would’ve done the same, if I’m honest. But how did you even find out who she was?”

“I saw her, with my own eyes…at a…” he dropped his head into his hands and released a sorrowful gasp of air. “She was at one of those military trade shows, of all places...in Vegas!?!” He scoffed and looked between the two people standing over him, “Can you _believe_ that?”

“When?”

“About 4 years ago. Just before that Aldrich Kilian guy went ape-shit on Tony Stark, he was there with A.I.M. showing her off to prospective clients…touting her around like some kind of lethal prostitute. They even told people she had volunteered!” He practically leapt out of his chair and began pacing, “I mean, can you believe the _cheek_ of them?? She is a _human being_ , and they were treating her like the Terminator or something…and here I was, thinking my little sister had been dead for 6 years!”

“So what did you do?” T’Challa asked.

“I tried to catch her attention, as best I could whilst remembering I was a soldier there doing a job. I’d nearly given up until she turned away from Killian and locked eyes on me.” He flung his arms out to the sides and slapped them against his thighs, “There was nothing. It was as if her eyes tore right through me. She was an empty shell.”

Nat pulled the chair out in front of her and sat down. “Did you see anything specific…anything Killian did or said or… _anything?_ ”

He looked to the ceiling, and planted his hands on his waist. “I remembered them giving her some kind of injection…I got close enough to the stand to hear Killian and some horrible woman talking to the vultures about vitamin shots.” He frowned and shook his head, the pain of reliving all this making him weary. “I don’t know…they lapped up the bullshit, whatever it was.”

T’Challa gave Nat a look, which Andrew picked up on. “It was drugs, wasn’t it? My sister is controlled by them, isn’t she?”

Nat nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh God!”

“But she’s coming off them now,” T’Challa added, “And Barnes is helping her, so I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

Andrew covered his face again and flopped back down onto his chair, “I just hope you’re right.”

 

xxx

 

Light was now pouring into the loft from the large sash windows and giving a pleasant warmth to every surface it touched. You’d settled yourself down in the corner of a couch, the good leg tucked under the painful one. Bucky had made you a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine hit would help with drug withdrawals, but the intermittent shaking in your hands left you unsure.

He brought himself a cup of coffee and waited for you to give him the all clear to sit at the opposite end of the couch. Finally, you began talking.

“What do you remember about yesterday?” he asked.

You embraced the warm cup with both hands and tipped your head to one side. “I remember the gun, mostly.”

“What about it, specifically?”

“The sound of the pieces being put together. I’ve no idea the number of times I’ve done it; practising or the r…real thing, but I can hear those clicking sounds in my ear, almost like a metronome.” You shook your head and laughed nervously, “Does that even make any sense?”

“It does. We work in rhythm, [name]. Timings, movements, sightlines, assembling weapons, mission complete…Rhythm soothes the mind.”

“I suppose that m…makes _a_ _lot_ of sense, then.”

He offered a reassuring smile and continued, “What else can you remember?” His voice was deep yet calming.

“I…I can’t think of anything.”

He shifted in his seat so his body was facing you, his right leg up on the cushion, “Try closing your eyes, and taking a deep breath. Block out all thoughts and all sounds around you, except for my voice.”

You did as you were asked, and gave a short nod.

“Now…what else can you remember?”

You allowed silence to fill the room for 30 seconds before you spoke. “I remember the wind. It whistled quite nicely at the first location, soft and…almost melodic.”

“And how did it sound at the second?”

You shrank down into yourself, as the change in sounds replayed in your head. “Hard, and sharp. It felt like it might pierce my ears, but…but I had a job to do.”

“All right. What were your orders?”

Your throat suddenly felt thick, like it was trying to suffocate you. Your heart began pounding, and the sound must’ve been loud, because Bucky reached out with his metal hand and touched your arm gently, his face warm and friendly.

“Take your time, [name], we’re in no rush.”


	14. Chapter 14

**3 DAYS AGO – AIRFIELD NORTHERN ENGLAND**

“ _Saturn_ … _Moonbeam_.”

Your eyes sprang open but your body remained still, as you looked up at Jackson, clutching the leather-bound notebook against his smart black suit.

He smiled sweetly at you, “Welcome home, soldier.”

“Thank you, sir. What would you like me to do for you?”

He pulled a piece of paper from inside the notebook and handed it to you. “Two targets. Extremely high value. Clean shot at distance, no other casualties. Copy?”

You ran your thumb down the paper, absorbing the finer details. Travel itineraries, media timings, photographs of the targets. When and exactly how you carried out the mission was up to you. A smirk spread across your face. You knew what to do. “Copy.”

“Good girl.”

 

**NOW – TRIBECA**

“So the two targets were the British prime minister and….erm, the Russian president?” Bucky gulped, knowing full-well the answer to that question.

You could only nod your head, as fear and guilt overwhelmed you.

He shuffled closer to you on the couch and gently placed his metal hand on your knee. You frowned, then opened your mouth to speak, but still no words would come.

“If you only take one thing from this conversation, [name], remember this; you are _not_ to blame, do you hear me?”

“B…but I killed them,” you whispered, forcing your voice to the surface.

He shook his head, “You didn’t even know your own name. Your will was not your own.”

You looked at him closely with your eyes squinted, then watched as he lifted your cup out of your hands and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Do you believe your own words, Bucky Barnes?”

He contemplated for a moment as he returned to facing you. “If you’d asked me that when I first broke free from HYDRA, I would’ve said no…absolutely not -”

“Exactly, so why shou -”

“ _But now_ ,” he interrupted, moving his hand to rest it on top of yours and giving it a gentle squeeze, “Now, I know where the line begins and ends. Some people say a weapon cannot kill without a human standing behind it, so the human is ultimately responsible. Well, _I_ was the weapon. _You_ were the weapon. HYDRA, A.I.M… _they_ were the ones pulling the trigger. 

“Y…you really believe that?”

He began to nod his head slowly, but as you watched him thinking it over, his actions became more definite, more accepted in his own mind, “Yes, [name], I…I do.” He licked his lips and dropped his head to keep your focus. “And I hope that you will come to the same conclusions as me. They tried to take our humanity from us, but we fight back. Do you blame yourself, for all of this?”

You shrugged, “Certain things, sure.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” you sighed and glanced up at the ceiling, “I was too trusting, when I think back to be…before it all happened, when I was in college.”

“You can recall that far back?”

You nodded, chewing on your lower lip.

He gave your knee another squeeze, and smiled warmly, “That’s _good!_ It’s taken me a long time to piece together a lot of my memories from before it happened. So what kinds of things do you remember from then?”

“Lectures…sitting in those tiers of desks, scribbling down notes.”

“What was the subject?”

“Erm…” You allowed your mind to fall back, in search of the answer. It was as if you were being transported into your own body 10 years ago; the images were grey tinged, and dappled with clouds. You could see your hands, writing on notebook paper. You glanced to your left and caught your…room-mate? _Joanna_. She smiled at you and gave you a nudge, as a professor’s voice in the distance called your name. You spun back around to look down at the man wearing a smart suit. _Jackson_.

Your heart began to pound again, seeing his face staring up at you and smiling warmly. _Bastard_. Your breathing was becoming heavier, and you were sure your palms were beginning to sweat. It felt as if you were falling, or were you being dragged? _No!_ Your vision clouded up completely, as if a dense fog was closing in on you, and suddenly a spark. Jackson coming towards you with a needle. Words failing you, as you lay helpless in the back of a van, surrounded by men. You could feel pain in your abdomen, and your hand instinctively pressed against the area. _A scar_. You’d nearly died. _Jackson did it, he -  
_

The cool touch of Bucky’s metal arm against your cheek stirred you from your memories. Your eyes popped as you gasped for air, but his face instantly calmed you down.

“You’re all right, I’m here…” he smiled, “Everything is okay.”

“Calculus,” you swallowed. Your throat felt like sandpaper.

He frowned.

“That was th…the subject in class.”

His smile spread to his eyes and he nodded, a light chuckle breaking through. “Excellent, you’re doing so well, [name].”

 

Xxx

 

Natasha leaned against the kitchen wall with her fingers laced together behind her head. They’d been in this room for hours, going over every tiny piece of information Andrew could recall from his close proximity to Secretary Ross.

“I was there, y’know, at Avengers HQ,” he said with a nod.

Nat looked at him, puzzled, “When?”

“The day Ross revealed the Sokovia Accords to you guys. I was stood to his right, watching him deliver his big speech; you wouldn’t have noticed me.”

She shrugged apologetically and glanced over at T’Challa who had been thoroughly riveted to your brother’s every word for hours.

“And what do _you_ think of the document?” the king asked.

"I think it made some fair points but, honestly…” he flashed a look at Nat before returning to T’Challa’s face, “I agreed with Captain Rogers.”

“Why?”

“Well, knowing what happened to my sister, I could picture someone like Ross issuing a kill order against someone like her, without hesitation. I mean, hell, it was guys like him who fired a nuke at Manhattan, wasn’t it?”

Nat dropped her hands to her sides and gave a pitiful nod.

“I know how you guys think; the steps you take to keep as many people safe as you possibly can, without the need to just kill anyone who is against you.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, “What I’m trying to say is… _None_ of you guys would’ve killed my sister, even in her most dangerous state, but Ross would.”

“He’s a fool,” T’Challa stated.

Andrew’s head shot up. “Don’t underestimate him…or anybody involved in this mess, _please_. They’re a lot smarter than we give them credit for. There’s always a backup plan.”

Nat scoffed, “Yeah, like the tracking device [name] found -”

“What did you say?” Andrew asked, shuffling in his chair. “She found a tracker? Where?”

“Her leg…it’s okay though, I think it was found, diverted, and destroyed in time.”

“Did she check for any more?”

 

Xxx

 

It felt like hardly any time had passed at all, sitting there talking to Bucky, but when you looked out of the window, the sky was darkening. Tall buildings that surrounded the area cast thick slabs of shadow at 45 degree angles, dragging night-time over you twice as fast.

A slight chill filled the air, and Bucky rubbed his right arm before pushing up off the couch, “I’m gonna grab a sweater, I’ll just be a second.”

You gave a sleepy nod and climbed out of the mountain of deep, cosy cushions, “More coffee?”

“Sure.”

You shuffled over towards the kitchen area, your oversized sweatpants sweeping on the floor as you moved.

Bucky went to the end of the hallway and pushed the door open just wide enough to fit through, flicked on the light and headed straight for the walk-in closet. As he routed around for a sweater big enough for his body, he heard you pressing buttons on the coffee machine, the whirling sound that followed proving surprisingly soothing. He couldn’t believe how far you’d come already in such a short space of time. You remembered a lot about your life before Jackson and Rappuccini had got their claws into you, and he thought back to seeing the flicker of light in your eyes as you recounted playing tag football with your brother and cousins during teenage summers. _She can do this. She’s going to beat this._ He finally picked out a sweater, rolled it down and headed back out into the bedroom, when he heard a soft thud. “You okay out there?” he said, opening the door wider and stepping out into the hallway. The sound of coffee being poured hit his ears.

You’d turned on one or two lamps that sat on small tables around the vast loft, giving the room a warm glow as he approached. “[Name]?” Silence. He instinctively plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Without looking, he typed in the words, _Something’s wrong. Get here_ , and sent it to Natasha.

He almost expected one of the highly polished floorboards to creak, but the only sound he heard was his own heart throbbing in his ears. “[Name], is everything all right?”

Stepping out into the open space, his eyes grew wide. There you were behind the kitchen island, your head lolled against a soldier wearing tactical black from head to toe, his hand tight around your waist. Your eyes were heavy as you looked down your nose at him. They’d done something to you, because you were still and eerily calm. Just then, he caught sight of a large empty needle on the counter top. _They’ve given her another dose._

“Sergeant Barnes, what a pleasure to finally meet you,” a voice said from the shadows, his body silhouetted beside a large window.

He turned, sipping a cup of coffee, and Bucky scoffed, recognising the man instantly. “Thaddeus Ross.”

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Barnes.” He took a step into the light, revealing two black eyes and multiple cuts and bruises to his face. As he spoke again, he winced and touched his painful nose. “And isn’t it just typical that the moment I finally have you in my cross-hairs, I find myself with more pressing matters?” He pointed in your direction, as you continued to stand with the aid of the Special Ops soldier.

“How did you find us?” Bucky asked, his voice low and menacing.

“Tracked, like wild animals,” Ross sniggered, his eyes aflame with excitement.

“But she…” Bucky gulped. _I’m not giving him ammunition_. “I took care of it.”

A laugh escaped Ross’s lips, patronising and wicked in equal measure. He took a few more steps across the room toward the kitchen area, put his cup down, and motioned to his silent helper, as Bucky stood tensing his muscles mere feet away.

The man grabbed you by the hair, yanked your head upright and then turned it violently to one side. He then parted the hair halfway down your head and tapped on a small scarred area, which had been completely hidden by your thick hair.

“You didn’t think we’d have a backup plan? _Oh, Barnes_ ,” Ross groaned with sarcastic glee, “I’m disappointed in you, son.”

Bucky gulped, watching as your hair was released and you flopped forward. The soldier pulled you back like a ragdoll, and your mouth broke into a light-headed smile. “Get out of here, now. I’m only going to ask you once.”

Ross laughed again and looked to his soldier, who scoffed under his breath at the threat.

“I can’t leave her, Barnes, if that’s what you’re expecting. You see, she has a mission outstanding, and...” he checked his watch, “Her first window of opportunity closed a _long_ time ago, so I’ve had to make other arrangements. She’s not missing it for a second time.”

Bucky growled and stepped forward. Suddenly, half a dozen more Special Ops soldiers seeped out of the shadows, their guns pointed right at him. He froze, his gaze shifting to you. If he tried to grab you, the bullets would start flying, and he didn’t want to risk you getting caught in the crossfire. He held up his hands and took an exaggerated step back.

“Good man,” Ross nodded, before turning to the soldier holding you up. “Get her downstairs to the van.”

The soldier nodded and scooped you up into his arms. Your head fell back, revealing your chillingly vacant stare. Bucky felt sick. He’d finally got you to a safe place, talking about your memories, healing, and now you were being walked out the door to be reloaded as a weapon.

Ross looked him right in the eye and took a final swig of coffee, before heading towards him. “Thanks for keeping her warm, Sergeant.” He patted Bucky’s metal arm and turned to leave, “Let me just take care of this business, then I’ll come back for you, too.”

Bucky’s rage began bubbling to the surface. “Make the most of those black eyes, Ross.” The Secretary stopped in his tracks. “Because by the time I’m through with you, they’ll be the least of your problems, I guarantee it.”

Ross spun back around and frowned. “Did you just threaten the US Secretary of State?”

Bucky smirked, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Ross chuckled and winced once again as his nose throbbed. He threw Bucky one last look of hatred before turning on his heel and heading straight for the elevator. As the door began to close, he spoke, “Finish him.”


	15. Chapter 15

Ignoring the looming shadows around him, Bucky let out a thunderous scream and set off in a sprint towards the elevator, but was halted in his tracks by one of the Special Ops soldiers, who spun and aimed a kick at his chest. Bucky grabbed it and twisted, sending the soldier careening into a glass table.

Another lunged at him, brandishing a knife. Bucky had time to smirk as he lifted his metal arm to block the attack, then sent an uppercut to the man’s chin. He screeched as he bit down on his own tongue and stumbled backwards, allowing Bucky to walk calmly towards him, his head low and his eyes squarely on his target. The soldier regained his footing and flicked the knife back round, ready to attack. As he lashed out with the blade, Bucky scooted backwards, only to be caught by soldier number three, who took his arms in a vice-like grip. Bucky struggled, and the knife came at him again, slashing the sweater to ribbons.

He sucked in air through his teeth as the knife sliced across his chest, but the rage inside him was gaining momentum. He thrust his elbows into his captor’s abdomen and yanked him down with every ounce of his strength, just as the knife came back for a third round. The soldier behind went tumbling over his back, and took out the knife man, both of them landing in a heap on the floor.

Bucky refocused on the elevator and leapt for the button to call it. Suddenly, the ‘pop-pop’ sound of muzzled semi-automatic rifle bullets piercing the air, and he instinctively spun around to swipe them out of the way with his metal arm. Three more soldiers stood in front of him, with their back to the windows, rendering them as blacked-out shapes.

Bucky growled and grabbed the remnants of his sweater, tearing it off in one swift movement. His grey Henley was streaked with blood from the knife man’s cuts, and his hair obscured his face. As he gritted his teeth, anger now at boiling point, one of the gunmen gulped, a bead of sweat trickling down his face.   
  
“Finish me, then!” Bucky screamed, pounding a fist against his chest. “I’m not going to stop helping her otherwise!” He pounded his chest again, “ _Fight me, you cowards!_ ”

The gunmen shuffled their weight, and Bucky was convinced one of them eyed-up the others, but nobody moved. The sound of ambulances and police cars travelling around the city, blaring their sirens, broke up the eerie quiet that followed, until the man in the middle took the plunge and raised his gun. Immediately Bucky whipped the ruined sweater into a loop and threw it at the man, wrapping it around the gun and yanking it back towards himself. The man was jerked forwards, his shocked yelp almost making Bucky laugh, but he had too much work to do. He snatched up the gun and jabbed the butt against the stumbling man’s face with such force, three teeth went flying across the room as he was knocked out.

Shots began whizzing through the air from the other guns, chasing the path Bucky took as he dived behind the kitchen island. The coffee machine was fractured, and hot liquid splattered everywhere, along with pieces of crockery and glass. A small butchers knife fell on the floor beside him, and he grabbed it, then listened as the bullets died back and the men approached. _Flank, how original_. He scoffed and turned the knife over in his hand so the blade pointed down, then closed his eyes and waited for the sound.

The gunman to his right kicked a piece of broken glass and Bucky’s eyes popped open. Before the man had a chance to react, Bucky jumped to his feet and threw the knife at the man’s left shoulder, rendering his arm useless, and causing him to drop his weapon. Bucky than leapt over the island with his foot forward, and kicked the gunman on the knife, forcing it further in and sending the soldier hurtling over the couch and into a crumpled mass on the floor.

He turned round to glare at the last man standing, almost expecting another bullet or two to come his way, but he could see the man’s wide eyes; he was frozen with fear. Bucky screamed again and ran at him with his head low, and charged at the man’s torso, tackling him to the ground like a football player. “Where is he taking her?!” Bucky screamed, sitting on the gunman’s chest with his hands around his throat.

“I…I…”

“ _Where?!”_

“Ca…Carnegie…” The man choked, his face turning purple.

Bucky relaxed his grip slightly. “Carnegie Hall??”

The man nodded and spluttered, “Y…yes.”

“Why?!” Bucky squeezed again, then relaxed once more.

“Pres…President Elli…s.”

“What about him?? _Speak!!”_

The man tapped on Bucky’s hand, his eyes pleading. Bucky thought for a moment, then let go and watched as the gunman gasped for breath. His eyes were now bloodshot, which gave Bucky a strange sense of satisfaction.

“Ellis was sup…supposed to be taken out at Brooklyn H…Hospital today, but thanks to _you_ , the king, and that Romanoff _bitch_ , she missed her window.”

“What’s at Carnegie Hall?”

“Ellis is co-h…hosting a dinner for some Stark Industries charity _thing_ , I don’t know.”

Bucky leaned back on the man’s chest and placed his hands on his thighs, deep in thought, “Okay, okay…just need to catch them up.” 

“Ha! Good luck with that,” the gunman wheezed sarcastically.

Bucky clenched his metal fist and slammed it against the man’s cheek, knocking him out cold. “That’s for Romanoff, too…asshole.”

He rose effortlessly back to his feet and scanned the apartment, taking in the six battered and bruised soldiers in his wake. _[Name!]_ He grabbed his black jacket from the coat stand, shoved his phone in the pocket, and rushed over to the elevator and pressed the button. The door opened straight away and he stepped inside. “How the hell did they even get in?” he frowned, looking at the pin code buttons, which were untouched. He entered the code to the garage from memory and jumped out, as soon as the door opened.

The motorcycle stood in the spot where he’d left it. _Couldn’t have come down to this level then._ The roller door began to rise, as if it knew he needed to move quickly. Within seconds, he’d leapt onto the bike, reversed out, and revved the engine, before racing out of the alleyway and onto the road. The engine roared in the pouring rain as he weaved through the night-time traffic, unfazed by the idea of anyone spotting him; he _had_ to get to you.

The phone buzzed. He pressed a button on his jacket and spoke into the air, his voice agitated, “Yeah?”

_“Bucky, it’s Nat. What’s going on?”_

“They took her again…Ross took her!”

Silence.

“Nat!”

_“Shit…”_

“What’s your ETA?”

_“Look up.”_

Without taking his hand off the throttle, Bucky glanced up for a second; just enough time to spot T’Challa’s jet shimmer out of its invisibility.

“Good to see you.”

_“We figured there’s not much use hiding any more. Do you know where you’re going?”_

“Carnegie Hall-” He swerved the motorcycle to the left as a car pulled out in front of him, “Stark’s got some charity event there tonight. President Ellis is gonna be there.”

Nat looked down on Bucky’s manic race through the streets of Manhattan, a huge lump rising in her throat. Andrew was panicking in the seat behind her, his words merging into an incoherent noise that didn’t come close to registering. She glanced across at T’Challa, whose demeanour remained calm and steady. _Maybe he’s choking back nerves too, inside?_

_“Nat??”_

“Sorry, erm…do you know what you’re looking for? A vehicle?”

_“I don’t, I was too busy taking care of some of Ross’s minions. Any chance you could find out?”_

“Sure, I’m on it. Stay on the line.”

“Tap into my security feed,” T’CHalla said, his hands steady on the controls.

Nat nodded and got to work on the laptop-sized screen in front of her. Andrew calmed down a little and rose from his seat to stand beside hers as HD footage of all angles of the apartment – inside and out – popped up on screen.

Bucky cursed under his breath as the sound of a car horn blared through Nat’s phone.

“There, there!” Andrew said, leaning in and pointing at a blue catering truck pulling up at the front of the loft, thirty minutes ago. Sure enough, within a minute, seven Special Ops soldiers had appeared from the back of the truck and sprinted across the deserted sidewalk, straight towards the front doors. “Tell him!”

Nat held up her hand to silence him and waited. _Come on, come on_.

“Nat, tell Bucky now!”

“Andrew, shut up and let me work,” she said with an unnerving calm.

Across the street, another blue catering truck rolled up to the curb. Nat leaned forward as the passenger door opened. _Ross_.

“Come on Romanoff, please tell him!”

Nat stood up and turned to your brother, “I understand you want her back, as we _all_ do…” she said, walking him backwards towards his seat, “…but your personal connection is not doing you any favours right now, so _sit_ … _down_.”

Andrew nodded sheepishly and sat back down, his hands shaking.

Nat returned to the footage and sped up the recording, switching to the elevator cam and then the apartment view. You'd been drugged again, she had no doubt; the look on Bucky's face said as much. She switched to the lobby view and sped up the footage again, until the door to the elevator opened and one of the men in black carried you in his arms out to the second truck. Ross promptly followed, and climbed into the same one. She splayed her thumb and index finger on the screen and zoomed in on the licence plate. _Got it._ “All right, Bucky, I found it.”

_“Go.”_

“It’s a blue Premiere Catering truck, New York licence plate: Quebec Mike Sierra 8368. You got that?”

_“Blue Premiere Catering truck, QMS 8368. Got it. Thanks Nat!”_

“We’ll be right with you, Bucky.”

He revved the throttle as much as the motorcycle could handle, forcing the front wheel off the road momentarily, before speeding away from the jet. T’Challa immediately increased his speed to match, following just behind Bucky as he dodged oncoming traffic.

He came upon a car accident up head, “Damn!” he shouted.

_“No problem, Bucky, just make a left, then right, and continue on that route. You’ll cut through Times Square and be close to Carnegie Hall.”_

“Great, thanks.” More horns blasted into the wet night air as he raced in front of them, his frustration causing him to bang his clenched fist on the handle. _Where are they?_

Another corner turned, and he could see the bright, distant glow of the neon lights of Times Square reflecting in the wet street.

 _“Up ahead, Sergeant Barnes,”_ T’Challa said, _“Blue truck.”_

“I see it,” Bucky smirked, as he lowered his chest closer to the motorcycle, speeding up as the wind and rain skimmed over him.

The truck moved at a steady speed, keeping up with the flow of traffic, whilst two blacked-out SUVs followed, one cars distance away on either side, each filled with plain-clothed soldiers on the lookout for trouble.

Bucky edged closer. _What are they doing in that truck? Are they reprogramming her, yet again?_ “I need to stop them...I need a weapon.”

“Way ahead of you,” Nat smirked down the phone, as T’Challa lowered the jet to only 15ft above Bucky’s head, and opened the door.

Bucky glanced up just as Nat popped her head out of the plane and tossed an electrified dart gun down to him. He caught it easily and, with a quick hand signal of gratitude, pressed ahead as the jet climbed again, it's thrusters blowing his hair around his face.

As he approached the blue truck, the SUVs stood out like beacons; _couldn’t have chosen a less obvious mode of transport?_ He steadied the motorcycle and raised his right hand, closed one eye and fired a dart at one of the vehicles. A neon blue shock wave covered it and cut the engine power, sending it spinning off to the left, just as they approached the intersection of Broadway and 42nd Street.

The other SUV turned a sharp left towards the motorcycle, trying in vain to knock Bucky off, but he simply swerved and pulled up alongside the driver’s window. He gritted his teeth and aimed the dart gun directly at the driver, who’s fear could not be masked by the darkness and the rain. The SUV swerved again, but once more came up short, and Bucky decided to stop toying with the man, so shot at the engine just above the front wheel, sending the vehicle into a sideways slide across the slick road. Tourists out soaking in the rain as they took in the atmosphere of Times Square ran screaming in all directions, as it took out more vehicles on its approach to the sidewalk, their eyes now drawn to the chase before them.

Bucky was a mere 10 feet away from the blue truck, and glanced at the licence plate: QMS 8368. “Got you.”   
  
He raised the dart gun once more and steadied it on the handlebar of his motorcycle, then pinpointed the best place to fire the dart, that wouldn’t hurt you. His finger was rock steady on the trigger, but his eyes wandered everywhere, assessing all possible outcomes. They were deep in the heart of the square now, with hundreds of people around… _witnesses_. He was about to make himself truly visible in the US for the first time. He, the Winter Soldier, who was feared the world over…could he do this for one person? What would Steve say? _“She’s an innocent victim, Buck, help her anyway you can.”_ There was no turning back once this was done _._ He nodded to himself and closed one eye. _Steady…steady…_

Natasha, T’Challa, and Andrew could only watch as the jet came in to land at the opposite end of the square. They saw the dart leave the gun and fly through the air towards the truck. It felt like slow motion, like it was never-ending.

Just as the dart was about to pierce the armoured door of the back of the truck, the driver yanked the handbrake and the vehicle began to turn. At that moment, the left-hand rear door opened with a heavy kick and you stepped out, as if about to place your foot on an invisible platform, and grabbed the dart. Your focus turned straight to Bucky, who quickly skidded his motorcycle to a halt. Your foot touched down on the road as the truck came to a halt and you set off towards him, murder in your eyes, and threw the dart at a huge billboard, which exploded and cracked, sending a shower of sparks raining down across the way.

Bucky gulped, “Please don't make me do this...not again.”


	16. Chapter 16

_BREAKING NEWS_

“Err, _Cap_ ,” Sam called from his seat on the jet. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Scott leaned over and stared at the screen, his eyes growing wide. “Uh oh.”

_“I’m in the heart of Times Square, Alex, where a ferocious fight has broken out between what appear to be private security forces and a man…who…”_

_“Rebecca, are you okay?”_

_“Erm…sorry, Alex, but I think this man m…might be the Winter Soldier...?”_

“Cap!”

Steve walked over from the back of the jet – larger than the one T’Challa had been piloting. “What’s going on?” Wanda followed and came to a stop beside him.

Sam pointed at the screen, “Barnes is on the news.”

_“Can you repeat that please; did you say the Winter Soldier is in Times Square?”_

_“Y…yes, I did. James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of former Avenger Steve Rogers is locked in a battle with this unknown group.”_

“Bring it up on the main screen.”

Sam did as he was asked and pushed up out of his seat, just as the images began showing on the large monitor at the back of the jet. Clint checked the auto-pilot controls and joined them.

Silence followed as they watched the scene playing out on screen. Bucky was there, surrounded by men dressed in black fatigues and brandishing guns, knives and batons. It looked like a police incident, but the group were not wearing badges. Steve squinted, trying to take it all in. The men were charging at him, but his speed and power were proving too much for them.

“Oh my goodness,” Wanda whispered and pointed towards the far corner of the screen, “Is that…?”

“[Full name],” Steve muttered, watching you run at Bucky, full speed. “She’s been re-activated.”

Sam dropped his head into his hands and grumbled, “Geez.”

_“Hold on a moment, Alex…I think…I’m not sure but… Yes, Black Widow and the one they’re calling Black Panther are approaching the scene, as we speak.”_

“Thank goodness,” Steve whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the slightly shaky images.

_“Rebecca, are they trying to apprehend Barnes?”_

_“N…no, they’re standing side by side with him. The Widow has her patented stingers aimed at the men in black, and Black Panther has extended his vibranium claws. The crowds are gathering…possibly 20 people deep now, but no one is interfering.”_

Steve took a sharp intake of breath, causing everyone’s eyes to turn to him. “It’s a good thing Nat called after she got that message from Bucky earlier. This has gone on too long now.” Everyone nodded.

“And _Ross_ is behind it?” Clint frowned, still unable to comprehend it. Steve nodded. “I’m _shocked_. I mean…don’t get me wrong, I hated the guy, but… _he_ ordered both kills? The Secretary of State?”

“He was hiding in plain sight…just like Pierce did,” Steve muttered, thinking back to seeing Bucky’s face after all those years, in Washington. “Just like Hydra.” The ache of having seen his best friend die, the guilt and the regret. Then suddenly a ghost was standing before him. His blood boiled thinking of all Pierce put Bucky through. “Clint, can this plane go any faster?”

Barton nodded, “Sure, we can be there within the hour.”

“Good, let’s do it. I don’t want the three of them fighting this battle on their own.”

Clint offered a reassuring smile and headed back to the pilot’s seat. Within seconds, the extra boost to the engines could be felt underfoot, and the jet tore through the sky like a lightning bolt.

Scott and Wanda moved away to discuss tactics. Sam, meanwhile, remained in place beside Steve, and folded his arms, watching his friend stare at the TV. “Check the lost and found for a spare vibranium shield, before we left?” he smirked.

“I might have,” Steve replied with the faintest of smiles, placing his hands on his hips.

Sam laughed under his breath and dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Everything will be okay, Steve, I’m sure of it.”

Steve sighed and dropped his head, “So long as the authorities let Bucky handle things. If they decide to arrest him, we’re all screwed.”

 

**NEW YORK CITY**

 

Bucky dodged to one side as a bullet went streaking past, missing him by less than an inch. He knew you had been re-activated, and that the bullet was yours – just like it had been back at the warehouse - but he refused to stop running towards you. He _needed_ to help you.

Natasha lifted both arms and yelled, “I’ll cover you!” in his direction, before firing stingers at a couple of gun men, with pinpoint accuracy. Both dropped just as Bucky ran past, their bodies convulsing from the electric shocks.

You fired again, and he skipped to the side once more, lowering his head and speeding up. It felt like he was about to leap across a chasm, like he was building up enough speed to launch himself across the void between the two of you. _Am I even going to make it?_

The whispers of the crowd had been steadily building for a while, and now all he could hear was his name; _James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, Winter Soldier, Sergeant, war hero…assassin_. It was like a chorus, seeping into his ears, pulling him momentarily from his goal of reaching the woman up ahead. _She’s too far gone_ , his mind told him, _how can I help her when she can be so easily pulled back again?_ Another soldier approached him, and Bucky punched him so hard in the chest with his metal fist that it yanked the man’s wrecked body backwards, so fast it looked like he’d been pulled by a bungee cord.

You took an RPG gun from one of the men in black and loaded up the grenades, one by one, then raised the weapon to be parallel with your chest. The man…that metal-armed fool who had tried to convince you that your life meant something…he was right in front of you, not even bothering to move in a zigzag to keep out of your line of fire. _Pathetic_. Maybe he wanted to die? _I can help him with that_. You clenched your teeth and pulled the trigger, firing the grenade towards him.

He caught it and tossed it up in the air, not even breaking stride as it exploded thirty feet up, sending fragments flying out towards the advertising screens.

Natasha looked up at the commotion for a moment, before a soldier grabbed her by the hair and spun her around, launching her into the side of an abandoned yellow taxi. She scowled in pain as she landed, then instantly rolled back onto her feet, the man sneering at her as she steadied herself.

“The Black Widow…all those years working in the shadows, only to die here in the neon lights,” he snarled.

Nat pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to check for blood, then laughed.

“What’s so funny?” the brute snapped.

“Oh nothing, just wondered how long you’ve been practising that line?” She winked at him, “Because it sounded rehearsed as hell.” With that, she leapt at him, placing her foot on his bending knee and wrapping herself around his body, before firing stingers right into his neck. He screeched and fell backwards, allowing her to roll off him and take one last glance at his motionless, groaning body. A pair of police men caught her eye, and she nodded in the direction of her assailant. Without saying a word, they moved to apprehend him and she ran off.

T’Challa took out another soldier, swinging at a lamppost before coming back on himself and launching at the man chasing him, the claws on his feet extended. The man screamed then fainted, his armoured vest no match for the razor-sharp vibranium. Another fool approached him, his gun aimed at the king’s head, but as he fired his weapon, the bullet ricocheted effortlessly off the helmet and pinged across the surface of the road. T’Challa, the gunman and the crowd of people mere feet away watched it bounce to a stop, silence all around them. The onlookers raised their heads to the king, eager to see his next move. The gunman gulped with absolute fear, his body unable to move when the Black Panther ran at him and took him out with a swift kick to the head. T’Challa then looked to the crowd, focusing on a small child held back by the white knuckles of his mother’s hands. “These men are the enemy,” he said, his voice slightly muffled as he raised his focus to the mother, “And I am not one for violence, but they _must_ be stopped. For all of our sakes.” She nodded in agreement, and relaxed her hands on the boy’s shoulders. T’Challa gave him a nod and ran off.

“Enough!” Bucky cried out in frustration, as another grenade was caught and flung into the air before exploding. “You are _not_ this machine, [name]!” he yelled, slowing his sprint down to a walk, “You are _more_ than what they made you!”

“Shut up!” you screamed back, pulling the trigger again and again, and watching with anger as he knocked one grenade twenty feet in the air, and caught the other, crushing it in his hand before dropping it on the floor. “I have a mission to complete, get out of my way!”

“No!” he said with sheer defiance, his legs coming to a stop 10 feet away from you. “No, I can’t do that, [name]…I _won’t_ do that.”

The mumbling and chatter from the onlookers began to die back, as they strained to hear.

Nat and T’Challa were shocked to see Bucky and you suddenly appear on all of the screens high up on the surrounding buildings, your voices booming.

“They _stole_ you, [name]…from your family, your life…they used you as a weapon for hate and fear.” Bucky held your focus with the strength of steel, as you dropped the RPG and pulled a machine gun from your leg. You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. “They did it to me, too, _remember_. Hydra? They stole my life from my frozen hands.” He held out his arms as the crowd gasped and began discussing this piece of information with each other.

You raised the cross-hairs of the gun to your sight-line. You had him, right there, a sitting target. The bullet would hit him cleanly in the right temple. All you had to do was squeeze the trigger.

“You’re being manipulated, [name]…drugged and abused.”

More gasps of shock and disbelief.

“We want to help you,” he motioned behind him, to Nat, T’Challa, and Andrew, who had begun taking cautious steps towards you, through the mess strewn across Times Square. “Your brother wants to take you home.”

“I don’t…I don’t _have_ a brother,” you scoffed. But he was there, not just in front of you, but deep in the fabric of your mind.

“Bucky,” Nat said aloud, throwing her hands out as he turned to face her momentarily. Her face was showing the strain of the night.

“Bu…Bucky.” Your eyes tore away from the cross-hairs. You remembered the loft…curled up in a ball on the shower floor, blood everywhere. His eyes when he found you; the relief that spread instantly across his features when he saw you. You weren’t dead. This man _cared_ , even having only known you for… _a day?_ That wasn’t possible. You shook your head and raised the gun again. “Get out of my head!”

“I can’t do that, [name]…” he said, rolling his lips. “I’m in your life now, whether you like it or not. I _will_ help you.”

“You c… _can’t_ ,” you replied with a gasp of confusion, as more memoires began to show themselves to you. This man rescuing you from that facility, taking you away. You could feel your arms wrapped so tightly around him as you drove into that garage. You heard yourself whimper. “I’ve done too many bad things…I can’t come b…back.”

“You _can_ ,” he responded instantly, nodding his head as Andrew approached him, arms up. “We will get through it all, you, me, Andrew…your parents.”

 _Your will was not your own_. You scowled. He’d said that not two hours ago. “My…will was n…not my own?”

Bucky and Andrew nodded enthusiastically. The entire square was deathly silent as you began to lower your weapon.

“I was a…a puppet…I was a _weapon_.” You turned to your left, “Wasn’t I?!”

The crowd gasped, and then quietened again, as all eyes turned to a figure, appearing from the passenger side of the truck.

“Isn’t that…?”

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

“Oh my goodness…”

 

xxx

 

“Mr President, Mr Stark,” an aide said, running into the backstage area at Carnegie Hall. She grabbed the TV remote and stood beside Matthew Ellis’s side, “You’re need to see this.”

“Holy shit…” Tony whispered, as both men’s eyes fell on the news footage, broadcast live from Times Square. Bucky’s face appeared in front of him. “ _Barnes_ …We need to get down there.”

 

xxx

 

Secretary Ross slammed the door shut and walked towards you, his eyes trained on Bucky. His pace was achingly slow, and his black eyes caught the neon lights of the square, dazzling him slightly. He clapped his hands in mock applause. “Well done, Sergeant Barnes… _very_ well done.”

Bucky shifted his weight, his metal hand clenching into a fist so tight, it made the components creak in protest. His eyes darted to you as you glared at the secretary, before meeting his focus. The gun in your hands dropped with a loud clatter to the floor.

“You’ve managed to expose the entire operation to the world, and _ruined_ my best asset,” Ross smiled, raising his arms to the crowds and the jumbo screens following his every movement. “How does it feel to have foiled my plan?”

“It’s not over until she’s safely away from you.”

“You got that right,” he seethed, and raised a 9mm pistol, and shot you in the head.


	17. Chapter 17

Falling. That’s what it felt like…or perhaps _floating_. Either way, it didn’t hurt, which surprised you. The ear-shattering sound of blast of the gun just before the bullet hit was still reverberating around your head, making the whole world shake. You hadn’t seen it coming, your eyes too focused on the man in front of you… _Bucky_. He had barely any time to react before you were gone, falling slowly into darkness. And now his face was burned into your retinas.

It wouldn’t be so bad though, death. No one would be able to use you again, to bring death and destruction and unrest to the world. That would be the best thing. Andrew would move on, get over it; after all, he must surely be used to the feeling of his sister being gone, right? He’d be okay. You wished you’d had a chance to see your parents again though, to let them know you were going to be just fine in the end… _free_.

You blinked, and you were looking down on yourself, still falling, still dying. Everything was happening in slow motion. Your eyes were closed, but you didn’t look like you were suffering a painful death, far from it; you were sleeping, dreaming of a world where life had turned out the way you’d planned. You would’ve finished your degree and got a good job, maybe even met someone special somewhere along the way. Children might have followed one day; you’d always hoped for them.

But here you were, on the brink of death. You looked down at your hands, floating in front of you; semi-transparent, ghostlike. Biting frost began to creep up your fingers, crystallising and sending chills up your spine. Here it would be, one last freeze, and gone.

“Noooo!!!” a voice broke through, piercing the quiet. The pain was laced through with anger. " _Nooooo!!_ "

“[Name!]” came another voice. Andrew’s.

 _What was that?_ You glanced down at your shoulders, to see disembodied hands taking hold of you, propping you up. A head fell against your chest, sobbing…listening for your heartbeat. Fingers pressed against your neck…feeling for a sign of life. _Andrew_. He wept openly, and you felt him kiss your brow, as you faded more and more. He whispered memories of a happy childhood, and you could almost see them materialising in front of you. Holidays at the lake, the pair of you chasing the dogs, throwing Frisbees, hearing the loud splash as they dove into the cool water and splashed your summer clothes. Christmas…lights and carols, snow and crackling fires. So many wonderful memories, all flooding back to you.  

A metallic sound resonated back and forth, once each way, dragging you from your memories. Bucky’s arm? No, this was different. Your spectral form saw a flash of spinning light come from high above on your right; neon pink, blue and green strobes reflected in the shining surface. A…a _shield?_

A large Wakandan jet lowered itself and hovered above the buildings, it’s thrusters blowing debris and trash across the square. Steve, Wanda, Sam and Scott jumped out, flying, shrinking or using streams of bright red light to lower themselves steadily, and each landing with soft thuds on the wet road of Times Square. Steve reached up and caught the un-painted shield with ease. Sam nodded in gratitude at Nat and T’Challa, and they all began running forward, the crowd murmuring, still shocked by the violence they’d witnessed.

Ross stood gaping at Steve, the pistol knocked cleanly from his hand, and was about to speak when the crowd parted and a motorcade of 5 came to a halt in the thick of the action, flags bearing the Presidential Seal wafting in the breeze. Steve and the others came to a stop, as Secret Service agents climbed out, wearing black shades against the neon lights, and opened the door of the 3rd car. President Ellis stepped out and froze in his tracks, his eyes meeting Steve’s, then his Secretary of State. He didn’t say a word, only looked at his colleague and friend with absolute despair.

“I _had_ to do it, Matthew,” Ross said, his voice booming over the speakers.

“Why?” the President asked, his hands outstretched.

“Because _you_ weren’t doing enough to keep us safe from _them_ ,” he pointed at Steve, Sam, Nat... “ _None_ of those politicians were!” He stepped forward, but halted when he met Bucky’s ferocious stare.

“So, what? You thought you’d take us all out? Send another brainwashed, innocent person to do your dirty work? What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Thaddeus?! What filled you with so much bile?!”

Ross opened his mouth to reply, but Ellis held up his hand to silence him, “You know what? I don't want to give you this platform." He beckoned his agents forward, "Get him out of my sight, I can’t stand to look at him.”

Before the agents could step in, Bucky lunged forward and tackled Ross to the ground, pinning him down and aiming a punch with his metal fist, squarely on his cheek, then another, and another, screaming all the while, and knocking him out cold. Blood ran freely from Ross’s mouth and nose, and Bucky glared at him, his hair around his face, gasping for breath, horror etched on his features. He could kill him if he wanted to. Just one little twist and it'd be all over. He grabbed Ross’s collar and lifted his head a couple of inches, “Justice. She will get justice,” he whispered through clenched teeth, before dropping an unconscious Ross’s head with a dense thud.

Natasha and T’Challa ran forward to you, dropping to their knees on the rain-soaked ground. Andrew had to be prised off you so they could take a look, and Nat tested for a pulse again.

“There’s n…nothing,” your brother sobbed, looking down at your lifeless body, his piercing blue eyes dulled by the rush of tears.  

Nat held a hand up for quiet. Everybody had gathered now, even the President.

“She has a weak pulse,” Nat breathed, “ _Very_ weak.” As sighs of relief spread around the circle and out to the crowd, she pressed a finger to her ear. “Clint, we need medical evac, _right now_.”

“Copy.”

“We’ve brought a cryo-chamber on the jet,” Scott chipped in, stepping forward.

Nat peered up at him and nodded, a small smile following, “Good, because I think that’s the only realistic way to save her -”

Bucky pushed through the circle, his dark hair sopping wet and his body tense. As soon as he saw you, emotion overcame him and he fell to his knees, halting Nat in her tracks. Wanda swallowed a lump that lodged itself stubbornly in her throat, as she watched him extend his hand towards you, towards the blood cascading from the wound. He shook his head, trying with all his might to hold back the ocean of tears that wanted, no, _needed_ to escape. His fingers brushed against the blood, as if he wouldn't believe it were true until her felt it. 

Natasha observed him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, then glanced across at Steve, who was looking at his friend with sorrow. “Steve,” she whispered, taking a step towards him, “We need to get her on to the jet.” He nodded in silent agreement, but hesitated as Bucky moved.

He pulled you to him, cradling you in his arms as his agony overflowed and rolled down his cheeks in waves that mixed with the raindrops that persisted in falling. He wasn’t sure where this pain was coming from; was it his head or his heart? Either way, he was overwhelmed. He’d helped you, or at least begun to, but in the very short time you’d spent together, you’d had a profound effect on _him_ as well. You’d questioned him, unprepared to just accept his words of kindness without challenging them, without asking why. _Do you believe your own words, Bucky Barnes?_ He nodded his head against yours, squeezing you tight, “I do, because of you.”

Scott and Sam shifted their weight, glancing at each other with damp eyes. Wanda then crouched down beside Bucky and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Bucky,” she murmured, “[Name] needs to go…let us help her.”

He looked at her, his eyes puffy.

“Let us take care of her,” she smiled, warmly.

Without saying a word, he opened his embrace to allow Steve to lift you carefully into his arms, and watched, still silent, as his best friend took a few steps back, offering him a smile of reassurance before he turned away and headed towards the now-descending jet.

Clint opened the hatch, and stood waiting for the former Captain America as he crossed the square, all tear-streaked faces in the crowd fixed squarely on him. He covered your head wound with his hand, shielding it from the gaze of the big screens surrounding you, your body limp and turned slightly into him. He gazed at you, and now began to feel his emotion rising to the surface. He sniffed and looked to Clint, whose face was plastered with worry. Steve checked your pulse. _Weak, so weak_. A few more steps, and you would be in cryo-freeze. A few more steps, and he might believe that you could survive this.

Suddenly, the crowd inhaled in a synchronised breath that threatened to suck all of the air from the world. All heads looked up to the neon night sky, unblinking even as raindrops ran into their eyes; Iron Man descended with the rain, the glow of the power source on his chest vivid, even amongst the garish hues of Times Square. He landed with a gentle clunk of metal, standing between Steve and the jet ramp, his mask intimidating.

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

He pressed a button on the side of his helmet and gazed out, as it folded back into his suit. His breathing was slow, exaggerated, and the rims of his eyes were red. He peered behind the super soldier to see Ross being bundled into a car, and felt his anger surge. _All the shit I let him throw at us_. _He tore the Avengers apart_. He returned to Steve, who had stopped in his tracks when Iron Man landed, and felt…guilty? He wasn’t sure. He squinted and observed him. “Is she going to die?”

Steve looked at you and shrugged, “I don’t know. I need to get her into cryo to give her the best chance of survival.” He went to walk around him.

Tony stepped into his path and began to speak, “She…” He scowled as his voice echoed around the square, and looked around for cameras. “Come on, guys, can we turn off the Jumbotrons, now?” he yelled into the air, arms outstretched, “You’ve had enough of a show.” The crowd mumbled and groaned as the screens dimmed to black, but they didn’t move. Tony looked back to Steve and whispered, “She killed two people, so… _brutally_.”

Bucky took a step towards the stand-off, his hands already curling into fists, as salt stung his eyes. The crowd was now murmuring. “What’s he _doing_?” he scowled, trying to read Tony’s lips.

Wanda moved forward to join him. “He’s saying something to Steve, something about her having…killed two people.”

Steve shot his former friend a look of pity, “Do you think she deserves to die, Tony? Like…like _this?”_  He held you out, forcing him to look at you, your wound.

A lump caught in Tony’s throat, a pang of guilt, but as Steve set off again, he grabbed his arm and pulled him back. No words would come. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how he felt.

“Oh shit,” Sam muttered, his wings on the verge of spreading.

“Hey!” Bucky shouted, “Get off him!” He began edging forwards, the rest of the group sticking close behind.

Steve ignored them and glanced down at the metal glove gripping his arm. He shirked it off, “Get out of my way, Tony, I _won’t_ ask twice.” 

The crowd offered up rumblings of anger towards Tony. “Get to the jet, Steve!!” Bucky yelled, his heart pounding, his arms flailing. The space between them suddenly seemed like the longest distance in the world.

Tony and Steve kept their focuses on each other, frost emanating from them both. “Let. Go,” Steve growled through gritted teeth, then glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, “Before _he_ makes you.”

Tony dropped his head and moved to one side. He turned to glare at Bucky, Nat, and the others, still coming towards him, whilst Steve continued his journey, picking up the pace as he checked your pulse one last time, and charged up the ramp into the jet.

“How’s she doing?” Clint asked, prepping the cryo-chamber’s temperature settings.

“Not good,” Steve frowned, “She’s holding on by a thread.”

“Okay, let’s get her inside.”

Together, they lifted you into an upright position and manoeuvred you into the chamber. Steve held you there whilst Clint fastened a metal brace around your waist, and one on either arm. The blood that had trickled down your face from the wound glistened against the billowing icy cold air, and as both men stood back, arms open to catch you if you slumped, you stayed still, a tiny breath escaping your lips. Clint affixed small tabs on your wrists, neck and chest, and gave you an injection in your arm. He then closed the door, and pressed a red button on the side of the chamber. A whooshing sound followed, and you were frozen, the heartbeat monitor reading at just 1 beat per minute.

“Tetrodotoxin B?” Steve asked, eyebrow raised.

Clint nodded and began studying the monitoring system on the side of the chamber, “It helped Nick Fury, it’ll help her.”

Steve gave him a pat on the back and smiled. A noise outside - a yell, followed by a rumbling of unrest from the crowd - drew both of thier attention out of the jet and back down the ramp. Steve's eyes widened, and before he knew it, he was yelling, “Bucky, no!”


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky had charged towards Tony, his fists up and his face twisted with rage. Tony had been caught off guard, and didn’t have enough time to move before mayhem ensued.

Steve set off sprinting across to them, as the crowds looked on, aghast. Sam opened his wings and flew towards the scuffle, and tried to get between them, but the punches flew too quickly, alongside cries of anger and pain. Tony tried to use his thrusters to fly away, to gain an advantage, but Bucky’s new arm was too strong, easily yanking him down whenever he got a few feet into the air. Metal fist pounded against metal fist, the sound reverberating around the Square.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled, as he approached them.

Sam tried once again to prise them apart, just as T’Challa arrived and managed to grab hold of Bucky’s arms, tugging him back with all his strength. Tony stumbled backwards, Sam now standing between him and the Winter Soldier, and pressed the back of his hand against his lip. He scowled when he saw blood. “What the hell?!” he shouted.

“Why did you try to stop him??” Bucky screamed, as T’Challa pulled him back further and the rest of the group came to a stop a few feet away. “Were you just going to let her _die?!_ ”

“I don’t know. Why not?” Tony said with venom and guilt and pain dripping from the words, “I’ve had _enough_ of you and your kind!”

“ _My_ kind?!”

“Yeah! _Murderers_ who hide behind the label of _brainwashed_ -”

“Tony!” Nat bellowed in horror. All around them, the hundreds watching on the side-walks clamped their hands against their mouths, echoing her shock.

He ignored her and pushed Sam away, glaring at him for a moment before he focused back on Bucky and pointed a finger at him. “You ruin lives, you and….and _that girl_ in there. You kill innocent people, and then expect sympathy?!” He scoffed and strode forward another inch, eyeing up Wanda as ribbons of red curled around her fingers. “Maybe her death would be a blessing for her, so she doesn’t have to deal with the aftermath?”

Bucky lunged for him again, arms flailing, and T’Challa’s considerable strength was barely enough to hold him back. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled, “You have no right to make that decision for her!”

Steve rushed in front of Bucky, his hands up, and looked his best friend deep in the eyes. “Buck, we have to go, _now_ -”

“But he was -”

Steve shook his head quickly and glanced over his shoulder at Tony, who was still fuming as he glared at Natasha and Sam. “I know, _I know_ , but we don’t have the time for this conversation. [Name] needs our help. We have to get her back to Wakanda.”

Bucky shook his arms and T’Challa released him, but kept his hands close to the Winter Soldier, just in case. Heavy raindrops landed on Bucky’s shoulders and raced down his metal arm, whilst the rest of his body seemed to be condensing the water, radiating steam. His anger was burning hot. Steve gave him another look and he hesitated before nodding once. “Fine.”

President Ellis approached with caution, surrounded by Secret Service agents.

Steve stepped away from Bucky. “We’re leaving,” he stated to the President.

Ellis didn’t say a word, didn’t try to stop them. Steve had expected him to try and have Bucky arrested. Tony had too, and his wide eyes when the President moved out of the way conveyed his shock. He scoffed, feeling utterly confused, betrayed.

The group began to move off, with T’Challa, Andrew, Scott and Wanda heading in the direction of the smaller jet. Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder and approached the President again, with Bucky keeping one eye on Tony. “A.I.M. are behind all of this,” he muttered, “We will send you all the proof we have.”

Ellis nodded.

“Monica Rappuccini and Matthew Jackson,” Nat chipped in, “They’re the ones you need to find, next.”

The President acknowledged her and shook his head in disbelief. “What a mess,” he mumbled and walked away without saying anything else, his black-suited agents closing up around him. He climbed back into his car and the motorcade set off, with the car containing Ross bringing up the rear. The crowds were finally starting to thin out, as the rain slowed down to a trickle.

Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Nat began to walk away in the opposite direction, towards the large jet, when Tony stepped in front of them, blocking their paths just like he had done a few minutes earlier. “So you just get to walk away from this?” he said to Bucky with his arms outstretched. “No punishment for past crimes, no justice for people like me?”

He went to move closer, but Steve reached out and placed a hand firmly on his chest plate. “Tony, _enough_. We’re getting out of here, out of your way. Just accept it.”

Bucky glared at him again, and they strode around him without further interruption.

“He needs putting back in that box, Rogers!” Tony yelled, as they walked away. “Him and the girl...they _both_ need containing!”

Nat turned around and sauntered backwards, a smirk on her face as she spoke, “A pleasure, as always, Tony.”

He didn’t respond.

They approached the waiting jet. Clint fired up the engines, and, within seconds of them coming aboard, he raised the ramp and lifted off. A great gush of air was forced down from the thrusters and flew out in all directions, forcing Tony to take a step backwards as he looked on helplessly, watching as both jets set off at full speed and shot through the sky and out of sight.

Xxx

 _One beat per minute_. Bucky sat staring at the monitors by the cryo-chamber, waiting for that green line to shoot up and down once, before he would began mentally counting another sixty seconds. After twenty minutes, he stood up and stared at your frozen figure. You looked peaceful, save for the red line of crystallised blood that streaked down one side of your face. He gulped down a lump in his throat the size of an fist, and rubbed the back of his neck. How had it come to this? _It’s not over until she’s safely away from you. You got that right_. Gunshot. He scrunched his eyes shut and jerked his head to the side. He was certain that sound would linger in his mind, probably forever.

“Hey,” came a soft voice from behind. Natasha ran her hand over his shoulder and came to a stop beside him, where she folded her arms and leaned against the back of a chair. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on you. “I don’t know, Nat. Ask me again when she’s awake and talking.”

The jet’s thrusters gently whirled in the background, followed by a slight boost in speed.

“She’s made quite the impression on you,” she smiled.

He rolled his lips, “How can you tell?”

“Just a hunch,” she shrugged, before tilting her head to one side and observing him for a moment, “They’ll do everything they can for her, Bucky, just like they did for you.”

“I know, it’s just…” He dropped his head, “That’s part of my worry, now; I’m not needed any more.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re the next dozen steps in her recovery. You _have_ to believe that.” He shook his head, so she stood up. “Nobody would’ve been able to get through to her like you did. None of us share her history, her pain…none except _you_." She prodded his arm. "That’s why the two of you have bonded so… _quickly_ , why you seem to fit -”

He frowned and looked at her, “How can you _possibly_ know that?”

“I saw it with my own two eyes,” she whispered, then offered him a small smile.

She turned to walk away, but halted when he spoke, “Thank you, Nat…for asking for my help in the first place, and then for _everything_ you’ve done since then.”

She shrugged and her smile widened, “Don’t go getting soft on me, Barnes. We both have reputations to uphold.” She winked.

He nodded and laughed under his breath as she turned around and walked away, her footsteps slowly disappearing from earshot. “Please be all right, [name],” he whispered into the air, as he turned back to the cryo-chamber. The heartbeat monitor beeped once, and he sighed.

 

**WAKANDA**

 

_“Your Highness -”_

_“We don’t have much time. Take her through to the operating theatre, now.”_

_“We need to retrieve that bullet.”_

_“Get me five pints of blood, O Neg…hurry!”_

“Steve! Can I g…go with them?!”

“No Bucky, leave them to do their work -”

“But, Steve, I -”

_“We need to get this heart rate climbing as soon as possible, to retain brain function.”_

“Stay here, Buck, please…just…stay here.”

Xxx

_Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…_

Warmth. Soft, comforting warmth surrounded you. Sunlight draped itself across your face and body, caressing your fingertips. Or was that another’s touch? You weren’t sure, but whatever it was, it seemed to sooth your entire being, causing your heart to beat steadily and confidently in your chest.

You wanted to open your eyes, to take a look, but your eyelids remained closed, rest keeping hold of you. The warmth against your hand slipped away.

Voices seeped into your ears, whispered and thoughtful. Men…two, maybe three?

“What’s the prognosis, then?”

A pause. “The doctors say she’ll be all right. A slow recovery, but she will get better…certainly in the physical sense.”

“That’s good news, Buck.”

_Bucky…Bucky Barnes._

“I know. It’s just…there’s just so much to do from here, I’m worried about her, about her mind.”

“My mind will heal,” you murmured, your eyes still closed. You could feel them turn and look at you, their gasps just audible. “How about yours?”

“[Name]!” Bucky smiled as he hurried over to you and dropped down into a chair beside the bed.

Those hands intertwined with your own, just like they had a few moments before…just like they had been doing for the past few days. You remembered now, it wasn’t all in your head. He had sat with you this entire time, keeping you company, keeping you safe.

Your eyes flitted open and a sleepy smile spread across your face, “Hi,” you whispered, your voice weak and hoarse, but friendly.

“Hi. How do you feel?” he asked, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Like I got shot,” you said with a laugh that sent sharp pain racing to your head wound.

“Careful, careful,” he said, rising from his chair to take a look at the bandages wrapped neatly around your head. His fingers gently touched your face, then he returned to his seat. “You gave me a fright, [Full name], I thought you -”

You raised a hand, “D…don’t say it, p…please. I’m here.”

He rolled his lips, but said nothing. You could feel his emotions clawing at the surface, desperate to get out, but he simply leaned down and placed a kiss in the palm of your hand.

You smiled again, then turned your head slightly to see a tall blonde man standing at the foot of your bed, his hands fidgeting. “My goodness, Steve Rogers.”

“Hello, [name],” he smiled, offering you a wave as he stepped a little closer, “You had us all worried back in New York. It’s good to see you awake.”  
  
“It is?” you frowned, suddenly very aware of who you were, what you’d done. Memories assaulted you.  
  
 _"I have a mission to complete, get out of my way!"_  
  
"No, I can't do that, [name]...I wont do that."  
  
"Get out of my head!"

“Why did you…why did _anyone_ save me?” You glanced at Bucky. Tears were welling up in his eyes, and a part of you wished you’d just stop talking. “Didn’t I cause enough problems?”

“ _A.I.M._ did, _Ross_ did…not you.”

You winced as you tried to push yourself up in the bed, “Bucky, I caused so much pain -”

He held his hand up to you this time, and looked you deep in the eyes. You settled back down. Tears ran down his and your cheeks as he spoke, “I couldn’t let you die, [name], it's as simple as that. Not today, not tomorrow…” He gulped, but held your focus, “You were worth saving, and you _always_ will be.”

 

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

 

“How do you feel today, Miss [last name]?”

You sighed, your hands clasped together around your knee. “Well, doc, I’m doing okay,” you nodded, your shoulders tensing and relaxing as a warm breeze blew in through the open balcony doors of the palace. “I remember my life, before everything… _changed_ , and I’m slowly coming to terms with it.”

“That’s good,” the psychiatrist said, jotting down notes in a thick blue notebook. “And Mr Barnes has helped?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you smiled, turning to look at Bucky, sitting beside you. You dropped your hand on his knee and gazed at each other. “He told me, a little over six months ago, that back when I was their…weapon, my will was not my own.”

“Very wise words, Mr Barnes.”

He nodded once in appreciation, but returned his focus to you, watching every word spill from your lips.

“I didn’t believe him at the time.” You scoffed, “I mean, how could I? I had been activated, deactivated, wiped…reprogrammed, and frozen so many times, I felt like I’d ceased being a human. I felt like I had been born to do that role…to be an assassin…and I accepted it.”

The psychiatrist shifted in her seat and readjusted the pen in her hand, “What made you think differently?”

“Hearing his voice,” you whispered, still gazing at him, “Hearing him say my name. Feeling the emotions in his words, his mannerisms.” You dropped your head and stared at your manicured nails. “He made me remember what it was like to be a person, to be…loved. I could never thank him enough.”

Bucky leaned towards you and placed a soft kiss on your temple, right on the scar. “You kept on fighting, [name], and you came through the other side…that’s all the thanks I need.”

You smiled and felt your cheeks flush a little. The doc began writing feverishly in her notebook, and you took the opportunity to trace your fingertips down Bucky’s metal arm, following the contours of the machinations. Finally, you lifted your head to look at him, and your lips met briefly, just brushing against each other before parting. Smiles were shared, which turned into soft giggles as your foreheads touched.

“So, as we come to today’s appointment, I’m sure you’re both aware of the significance?”

You both nodded.

“Former Secretary Ross begins his trial today, alongside Rappuccini and Jackson.”

You gulped, and felt your hand shake until Bucky scooped it up into both of his and squeezed it gently.

“Are you all right, [name]?” the doc asked.

You nodded again, “Yes, I’m fine.”

“How do you feel about the trial, and about the United Nations’ decision not to charge you with any crimes?”

You shrugged. “I’m relieved, in some ways…I’m happy that neither I nor Buck are wanted criminals, but…”

“What is it, my love?” Bucky whispered, kissing your hair.

“A part of me wishes I could be at that trial…just so I could look them in the eye, smile, and tell them that Winter is _finally_ over.”


End file.
